#the conversation about creating a play space

[theseh00perscanh00p]

Coaching Violation: Part 9

paige x azzi

a/n: I rewrote this chapter three whole times no lie I have three different versions and this is the one I like the best so if y'all hate it I might cry lol

word count: 4.5k

Rae’s Apartment — Friday Night

Azzi’s POV

The living room is glowing with string lights and soft music plays from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. Food is everywhere — takeout containers, snack bowls, half-empty bottles of soda and sparkling water. Shoes are kicked off at the door, socks half-matching. Laughter weaves through the space like it belongs there.

Azzi was curled into the corner of Rae’s couch, hoodie sleeves bunched at her knuckles and a paper plate of tacos balanced on her thigh. She had just taken a sip of sparkling water when Rickea leaned in from the opposite couch, a sly smirk forming.

“So,” Rickea started, dragging the word out way too slow. “We ever gonna talk about him?”

Azzi blinked. “Who?”

“The bed bug,” Rae chimed in, grinning wide.

“The what now?”

“You know,” Rickea said, turning to the rest of the room for backup. “The somebody responsible for the mark on your ribs last week.”

Half the room burst out laughing.

“Oh my God, can y’all not,” Azzi groaned, already blushing.

“But like seriously,” Rae said through a mouthful of chips, “that wasn’t a mosquito bite, babe. That was personal. That was someone’s signature.”

“Looked intentional,” Lexi added from the floor, holding up her drink. “Like a stamp.”

Azzi hid her face in her hoodie sleeve.

“I swear y’all create fanfiction out of thin air,” she mumbled.

“Oh no, this ain’t fiction,” Rickea said. “This is investigative journalism. Pulitzer-worthy work.”

Azzi shook her head, laughing into her cup. “Y’all are too nosy for your own good.”

“Is it serious?” someone asked.

“Was it good?” someone else added, and the group burst into another round of laughter.

Azzi just raised a hand, trying to wave them off, but the grin tugging at her mouth was hard to hide.

“Fine,” Rae said, eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell us. But if you show up with another mystery mark, we’re opening a full case file. That’s not a threat, that’s a promise.”

Azzi couldn’t help it — she laughed. Full and warm. A little flustered, but wrapped in the ease of the team around her. They didn’t know the truth. Not really. But the fact that she felt this giddy, this off-balance, about someone who wasn’t just a mystery hookup?

Yeah.

She was in trouble.

And the more they joked, the more she realized just how deeply she’d fallen for the one person in the room who wasn’t even here tonight.

Music lower now. Most of the food is gone. A few girls are playing cards at the coffee table while the rest scroll through their phones or lounge in sleepy conversation.

Azzi’s phone buzzed against her leg.

She glanced down.

P (You Know The One):

Just checking in. You okay?

Her stomach did that thing again. That dip and float feeling. She smiled — couldn’t help it — and started typing back, completely zoning out of whatever Rae and Rickea were arguing about across the couch.

That was her first mistake.

“Hold up,” Rae said, eyebrows lifting. “What’s that face?”

“What face?” Azzi didn’t even look up.

Rickea leaned forward. “That face like you’re tryna flirt in lowercase letters.”

Azzi locked her phone quickly and tucked it under her thigh. “Y’all need help.”

“Noooo,” Rae said slowly, standing. “We are curious. You’re the one acting like your phone’s a state secret.”

Before Azzi could react, Rae lunged, snatching the phone from under her leg and unlocking it with ridiculous ease.

“Rae—!” Azzi reached for it, but Rae danced backward, holding it up.

Everyone turned.

A beat passed.

Then Rae gasped.

“Yoooo,” she drawled. “We got an initial.”

Rickea’s eyes widened. “No full name?”

“Just P… and get this — the contact name is literally: P (You Know The One).”

Dead silence. Then chaos.

“Daaaamn, Fudd,” Lexi said through laughter. “You really out here keeping it government concealed?”

“‘You Know The One’???” Rickea repeated, nearly wheezing. “That’s some top-tier sneaky link behavior!”

Azzi snatched the phone back, blushing hard now.

“She’s not— It’s not like that.”

“Oh, so she’s a she now,” Rae teased, flopping back onto the couch like she just won the jackpot.

“Shut up.”

Rickea leaned over. “C’mon, Az. Just tell us who the hell P is.”

Azzi’s smile was too soft to match the panic in her voice. “Nobody.”

“‘Nobody’ has you smiling at your phone like that,” Rae said, eyeing her like she was a walking lie.

“‘Nobody’ apparently kisses like they mean it,” Lexi added, sipping her drink.

Azzi gave up. Held her phone close to her chest. And said nothing.

But Rae raised her eyebrows like she already knew.

And Rickea? She just whispered, “She real cute though, huh?”

Azzi bit her lip. Grinning. Face warm.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

Azzi’s Apartment – 12:38 AM

Azzi is curled up on the couch, blanket half-draped over her legs. The room is dim, the TV murmuring in the background. Her phone rests against a pillow, screen angled toward her face as FaceTime rings.

ON SCREEN: PAIGE – IN BED, HOODIE ON, FACE LIT BY SCREEN GLOW.

Paige

(smiling instantly)

Hey, sneaky.

Azzi

(groans)

Don’t start.

Paige

Nah, I am starting. What happened?

Azzi

Rae stole my phone.

Paige

(already grinning)

Oh no.

Azzi

Oh yes. She read your contact name out loud like it was evidence in a criminal trial.

Paige

(chuckling)

Please tell me it still says “P (You Know The One).”

Azzi

(deadpan)

Unfortunately.

Paige

That’s not a contact name, Azzi. That’s a confession.

Azzi

That’s plausible deniability.

Paige

That’s “I’m hopelessly in love but trying to act casual.”

Azzi

(smirk tugging)

Okay, relax.

Paige

So what now? Are they suspicious?

Azzi

Suspicious isn’t the word. They’re on red alert. Like, FBI-level side-eyes every time I get a text.

Paige

(wincing)

Shit.

Azzi

Yup. We gotta cool it. Or at least get sneakier.

Paige

You’re the one who kissed me at a red light two nights ago.

Azzi

That was a safety kiss. I was preventing an accident.

Paige

(laughs)

Reckless.

Azzi

Only when it comes to you.

They both pause. The silence hums.

Paige

So… what do we do?

Azzi

We hide better. We play dumb. And I rename your contact to something boring like “Training Schedule.”

Paige

(grinning)

Ouch.

Azzi

You want “Coach Daddy”? I’ll get real creative.

Paige

Okay, never mind. Go with “Training Schedule.”

Both laugh. It lingers.

Paige

But not too careful, right?

Azzi

(raising an eyebrow)

Define not too careful.

Paige

Like… still mine, even if we’re pretending otherwise.

Azzi

(quietly)

I’m yours. That’s not changing.

Longer pause. Paige shifts under the blankets.

Paige

I missed you today.

Azzi

(softly)

Missed you too.

Azzi yawns, curling deeper into the blanket.

Azzi

Alright, P—You Know The One, I need sleep before Rae launches a full investigation.

Paige

Change my name first.

Azzi

To what?

Paige

Something boring. Like “Work.”

Azzi

(mock gasp)

Wow. So I’m just work to you?

Paige

(smirking)

You’re my full-time job.

They both smile.

Azzi

Night, Paige.

Paige

Night, baby.

Azzi taps to end the call. Screen fades to black.

The screen dimmed. The apartment went quiet again, except for the low hum of the fridge and the faint city sounds drifting in from her cracked window.

Azzi sat there on the couch, phone still in her hand, thumb resting lightly over the screen like she could call her back just to hear it again.

“Night, baby.”

It played in her head on a loop — not rushed, not nervous, not a slip of the tongue. Just… said. Like Paige had said it a thousand times before. Like it belonged there.

Azzi bit back a smile, but it still pulled at the corners of her mouth as she tucked her phone into the blanket beside her.

She whispered to no one, “Baby, huh?”

The word settled in her chest — warm, soft, dangerous.

And somehow, it didn’t scare her.

It just made her want to hear it again.

Saturday Morning – Venice Coffee Co., 9:12 AM

Paige’s POV

The coffee shop was tucked into a side street in Venice, the kind of place with overpriced croissants and plants hanging from every corner like they were being paid rent. Paige sat tucked in a booth by the window, hoodie on, sunglasses still half-pushed into her hair. She sipped her iced americano like it could ground her.

Across from her, Nika — her best friend since sophomore year, blunt as ever and hungover from whatever rooftop bar she’d hit the night before — narrowed her eyes over the rim of her oat milk latte.

“Okay, you’ve been fidgeting with that straw for fifteen minutes,” Nika said. “What’s up? You look like you murdered someone and are trying to figure out where to bury the body.”

Paige let out a laugh that didn’t quite hit. “Not murder. Just… maybe a little professional implosion.”

“Okay, dramatic.” Nika leaned forward, dropping her sunglasses onto the table. “Spill it. Is it about the team?”

Paige hesitated.

Nika raised a brow. “Paige.”

Paige sighed and leaned in, voice low. “It’s Azzi.”

Nika blinked. “As in your player Azzi?”

Paige nodded slowly.

Nika whistled. “Damn. Okay. Didn’t have that on my bingo card. But also… kind of did. You always talked about her like you were mad at yourself for being impressed.”

Paige groaned. “It started before I became coach. Ten months ago. All-Star weekend. One night. Then nothing. We avoided each other. And then boom — she’s traded. To my team. And now we’re—” She stopped. Sighed again. “It’s not just one night anymore.”

Nika’s expression softened. “And you didn’t tell me because…?”

“I didn’t know what it was,” Paige admitted. “And now I do. And I still don’t know what to do with it. I’m falling for her, Nik. Like, hard. And it’s terrifying because I’m trying so damn hard to be a good coach and a professional and—” Her voice cracked. “—not fuck this up.”

Nika didn’t say anything at first. She just reached across the table and squeezed her wrist.

“You love the game,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s ever loved you back the way it should have. And Azzi? She might.”

Paige’s throat tightened. “I want to protect this. Us. But everything feels like it’s just waiting to blow up.”

Nika shrugged. “So don’t let it. You’re not dumb, Bueckers. You’ve been through worse. You’ll figure it out.”

Paige looked out the window — at the sun coming up over the beach, the surfers jogging past, the world not ending.

Paige’s Apartment – Friday Night

The game film on her laptop played in silence, nothing more than background movement on the screen. Paige wasn’t watching it. Hadn’t been for the last hour. Her eyes were locked on the blinking cursor of a notes app open next to it — five different half-written ideas, each more cringe than the last.

“Wanna make this official?”

“So… girlfriend privileges unlocked?”

“Will you be mine? Like for real this time?”

She groaned and dropped her head onto the couch cushion. “This is embarrassing.”

KK would’ve roasted her if she knew. Nika would’ve told her to just stop thinking and do it. But neither of them were here, and the silence was getting louder by the minute.

It wasn’t that she was afraid Azzi would say no.

It was that Azzi had already said yes in every way that mattered — with her time, with her trust, with the quiet way she leaned her head on Paige’s shoulder after wins and losses alike. But the label had been a ghost hanging between them. Neither of them had dared name it. And Paige hated ghosts.

She closed her laptop and reached for her phone. Opened her photos.

One of them from the drive-in was still her favorite — Azzi curled in a blanket, holding a Twizzler like a cigar, eyes rolled, laughing at one of Paige’s bad jokes. The memory made her heart knock once, stupidly loud in her chest.

She scrolled a little further.

Vegas. The hoodie. That first morning-after panic. That kiss in the elevator they almost shared. It all felt like a different universe now.

Now, they were 8–2. Azzi was thriving on the court again. Paige had stopped spiraling before every practice. The routine was settling in. And through it all, Azzi had stayed. Had chosen her again and again — in text messages, FaceTimes, quiet corners, and almosts.

So why was Paige sweating this so much?

Because she didn’t want it to be casual anymore. Not even close.

She exhaled, tapping her fingers against her thigh.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself. “Just ask her.”

But no. Not like this. Not over text. Not half-asleep after practice. Not in secret, like it was something they had to tuck away under the bed.

She wanted it to be intentional. Not big. Not flashy. But real.

Maybe something dumb and private — like a shared protein shake at that weird post-practice smoothie bar Azzi always liked. Or a card slipped under her locker door. Or maybe a playlist, labeled ‘For My Girlfriend’ and wait to see if Azzi catches it.

Something them.

Whatever it was, it had to say:

I choose you. Not by accident. Not in secret. Not just when it’s easy.

She pulled up her calendar. No games tomorrow. Just film review and lift. She could catch Azzi after — maybe offer to grab lunch. Keep it low-key.

She thumbed out a text.

Paige

Hey. Tomorrow. After weights. You free?

Seconds passed.

Then her phone lit up.

Az #35

For you? Always.

Paige smiled down at the screen, a knot forming in her chest — the good kind. The kind that reminded her this wasn’t just something. It was everything, and she was finally ready to say it.

Tomorrow, she’d ask.

For real.

Evening – Paige’s Apartment

Azzi’s POV

They were curled up on the couch, bodies tangled like it had become second nature. The TV was on but muted — some old game replay Paige had been half-watching, half-ignoring. Takeout containers littered the coffee table, the aftermath of a late dinner they’d barely touched between laughs and foot nudges and easy silences.

Azzi leaned her head back against the cushions. “You’re quiet.”

Paige looked over at her from the other end of the couch, one leg stretched out, the other tucked beneath her. “I’m thinking.”

“That’s usually dangerous.”

Paige grinned, but it was soft. Thoughtful. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say something without sounding like a total cheeseball.”

Azzi shifted, sitting up a little straighter. “Now I’m interested.”

Paige reached behind her and pulled out a folded-up note. “I wrote something. Don’t laugh.”

Azzi blinked. “You wrote me a note?”

Paige offered it like it weighed a hundred pounds. “Just… read it.”

Azzi unfolded the slightly crumpled paper, smirking as her eyes scanned the handwriting.

Reasons I Want to Make This Official (Even If We Already Kinda Are):

You laugh at my dumbest jokes.

You’ve stolen every hoodie I own, and somehow, I don’t mind.

You challenge me — even when I’m pretending to have all the answers.

You’re the calm in my chaos.

You make this — us — feel real. And right.

You already feel like home.

Azzi stared at it for a beat longer than she meant to. Her throat tightened. “So… what are you saying?”

Paige sat forward, elbows resting on her knees. “I’m saying I don’t want there to be any gray area anymore. I want to call this what it is. What it’s becoming. I want to be yours, out loud. Not just in late-night calls and secret smiles at practice.”

Azzi’s heart did a full somersault. “You wanna be my girlfriend?”

Paige nodded, a little bashful despite the boldness of her words. “I already feel like I am. But I want you to know it’s not a question anymore. It’s a yes. It’s always been a yes.”

Azzi moved before she could talk herself out of it — sliding across the couch, curling up beside Paige until their foreheads touched.

“You are such a softie,” she whispered, eyes shining.

“Only for you.”

Azzi laughed, brushing her fingers along Paige’s jaw. “Good. Because I was starting to think I was the only one catching real feelings out here.”

“You’re not.”

They kissed — slow, steady, like the kind of promise you don’t rush. The kind that builds.

When they finally pulled apart, Azzi leaned her head against Paige’s shoulder. “Okay then. We’re official.”

“Official-official,” Paige murmured, her fingers slipping between Azzi’s.

“And now,” Azzi grinned, “we have to be even sneakier.”

Paige groaned. “Great. I’ve committed to a relationship and a full-time undercover operation.”

Azzi giggled into her shoulder. “You’re in too deep, Bueckers. No turning back now.”

And despite everything — the risks, the secrecy, the unknowns — it felt like they’d just stepped into something real.

Next Morning – Sparks Practice Facility

Azzi’s POV

The second Azzi stepped into the gym, she felt it — the need to reel everything in.

Be normal. Chill. Unbothered. Un-kissed.

Unfortunately, she felt anything but.

Paige had kissed her goodbye that morning like she was already counting the minutes until they could be alone again. She’d whispered “Girlfriend. That’s gonna mess me up all day” right into Azzi’s neck, then practically shoved her out the apartment so they wouldn’t be late.

Now here they were — coach and player again. The shift was always jarring, but today? It felt like walking a tightrope in heels.

Azzi kept her hoodie up and her headphones in as she walked past the locker room toward the court. But her eyes flicked up the second she entered the gym.

Paige was already there. Clipboard in hand. Hair slicked into a high ponytail. Locked in. All business.

But then—her gaze met Azzi’s for a half second too long.

Just a flicker.

Just enough.

Azzi’s stomach flipped.

“Morning, Fudd,” KK called from across the court. “Looking alert today. Must’ve gotten some quality sleep.”

Azzi coughed, adjusting her bag strap. “Yeah, something like that.”

She was pretty sure she heard Rae snort behind her.

Paige’s POV

Paige kept her posture neutral, her clipboard gripped like a lifeline. Professional. Calm. Do not stare at your girlfriend.

Your girlfriend.

Jesus.

It echoed in her head like a chant every time Azzi walked by. She’d always been beautiful, always carried herself like sunlight wrapped in competitiveness. But now?

Now she was Azzi, capital-G Girlfriend, and Paige had to pretend like she wasn’t still thinking about the way Azzi had kissed her back against the kitchen counter that morning just because they were allowed to.

She cleared her throat. “Alright, warm-ups. Let’s go. Clock starts in two.”

As players began to scatter, Paige walked down the sideline—cool, focused—until Azzi jogged past her to grab a ball from the rack.

And in that moment, Azzi’s fingers grazed hers.

So subtle.

No one else could’ve caught it.

But it stopped Paige in her tracks.

Azzi didn’t look back. Just dribbled away like she hadn’t just set Paige’s brain on fire.

Mid-Practice – Water Break

Azzi stood near the end of the bench, towel around her neck, taking a long sip from her bottle. Paige walked by, checking her clipboard. She didn’t stop.

But she said, just barely audible, “We still on for later?”

Azzi didn’t move her head. Just nodded once.

Barely a breath later, she whispered, “You’re terrible at being subtle.”

Paige smirked without turning around. “You touched me first.”

Post-Practice – Locker Room

Rae dropped onto the bench beside Azzi and gave her a look. “Sooo… what’s got you all smiley this week? You’ve been floating through drills.”

“New protein powder,” Azzi replied immediately.

Rickea raised an eyebrow. “It come with kisses too?”

Azzi coughed. “What?”

“I said—” Rickea leaned closer— “you’ve been glowing, girl. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. Whoever Mystery Hoodie is got you soft.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her ears burned. “I’m literally just hooping.”

Rae raised her water bottle. “Right. And I’m just hydrating.”

Post-Practice — Coaches Office

She was standing by the window overlooking the practice court, watching players filter out. She wasn’t smiling. Not quite.

But her thumb was hovering over her phone.

Paige

Still on cloud nine from last night. Can’t believe I get to call you mine.

Az #35

Stop it. I’m in the locker room trying not to blush like an idiot.

Paige grinned, tucked her phone away, and whispered to herself:

“God, I’m so screwed.”

Saturday Night – Paige’s Apartment, 6:14 PM

Paige’s POV

Paige checked the time again. Third time in the last five minutes.

She’d changed twice already — once from jeans into joggers, then from joggers into sweats that didn’t look like they’d been through a breakup. Now she stood barefoot at the door in a zip-up and high-tops, still somehow convinced she’d misread the vibe.

Azzi’s text from earlier rang in her head:

Comfy, not crusty. No questions.

The knock finally came.

When she opened the door, Azzi stood there like she was in her own teen rom-com poster — hoodie layered over a cropped tee, curls soft and pulled to one side, and one dimple showing without apology.

Also, holding a blindfold.

“Seriously?”

Azzi grinned. “Don’t make this weird.”

“It’s already weird.”

“You trust me?”

“Barely.”

“Cool. Let’s go.”

27 Minutes Later – A Hidden Warehouse Studio in the Arts District

Azzi’s POV

The reveal was worth every second of Paige’s whining.

When she pulled off the blindfold, Paige blinked at the warm, light-drenched studio—canvases already on easels, blank aprons slung over the back of chairs, soft jazz playing from a corner speaker. Everything smelled faintly of cedar and linseed oil.

Paige squinted. “We… painting?”

Azzi shrugged. “You said once you sucked at it.”

“That was not a challenge.”

“Well,” Azzi said, grabbing an apron and tossing it her way, “I booked the space. We’ve got two hours. So start sucking.”

45 Minutes In – Painting Section

Paige’s POV

Paige stared at her canvas like it had just insulted her.

“I don’t even know what this is supposed to be anymore,” she muttered. “I think it started as a landscape. Now it looks like a haunted sock.”

Azzi was on the other side of the table, very much not suffering from the same problem. Her canvas was full of bold strokes, messy purples and golds and blues layered on top of each other. Abstract, but it had mood.

“You look like you’re actually trying,” Paige said, suspicious.

Azzi dipped her brush in yellow. “I am.”

“You told me this was just for fun.”

“I said that you didn’t have to try.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You tricked me into a competition.”

Azzi’s grin was full evil. “Took you long enough.”

They painted in silence for a minute.

Well, not silence. There were plenty of tsks from Paige, some muttered curses, and one very loud “Okay, why is the green doing that?”

Azzi finally came around to peek. “What is this?”

Paige looked down. “It was supposed to be a sun. But it mutated.”

Azzi tilted her head. “It’s giving… radioactive fried egg.”

“You’re giving obnoxious critique energy.”

Azzi leaned closer, her chin almost on Paige’s shoulder. “You want help?”

“No.”

Azzi reached anyway, guiding her hand over the canvas for a slow stroke of burnt orange.

Paige pretended to sigh. “Is this our Ghost moment?”

Azzi’s breath was warm on her neck. “Not unless we spill the paint.”

Post-Painting – Clean-Up and Teasing

Their hands were covered in colors. Azzi had a splotch of navy blue on her jaw from when Paige “accidentally” flung a brush, and Paige’s hoodie sleeve looked like a preschool classroom exploded on it.

“You’re never getting that stain out,” Azzi said, wiping her hands.

“Cool. Now I have an excuse to steal one of your hoodies.”

Azzi turned. “Oh, you think you’re ready for that level of commitment?”

Paige opened her mouth — then shut it.

Point: Azzi.

Back in Azzi’s car – Downtown Lights, Soft Music

Azzi had music on low. Old Drake. Something vibey enough to fill the quiet without interrupting it.

Paige sat sideways in the passenger seat, legs tucked under her, watching streetlights flash through the window. Her painting sat at her feet, still wet, still unspeakably bad.

Azzi glanced over at a red light. “So… you had fun?”

“I mean, I humiliated myself. Got emotionally attached to a sad-looking cloud. Ruined a hoodie.”

“But?”

Paige smiled. “Best date I’ve ever been on.”

Azzi’s fingers tapped the steering wheel. “Good.”

Silence again. The sweet kind.

Then Paige added, “Also, I’m naming the haunted sock painting after you.”

Azzi laughed. “Rude. But fair.”

All-Star Weekend — Present Day

Paige’s POV

The air buzzed different during All-Star weekend. It always had — too many athletes, too many cameras, too many secret group chats trying to coordinate last-minute appearances at rooftop parties and sponsored brunches. But this year, Paige felt the weight of it pressing against her skin like the desert heat.

She tugged down her baseball cap and slipped her phone back into her pocket. Her badge read Coach Bueckers – West All-Star Delegate. Memories of the year prior where things originated between her and Azzi flooded through her mind.

It made her chest tight in ways that weren’t all bad.

Especially since things between them had been… good.

Stable.

Private.

They’d been careful. Not just around the team but around everyone. No shared posts. No risky comments. No hand-holding in public. Just subtle glances. Private dinners. Texts no one else would read.

It wasn’t ideal — hiding the person she wanted to scream about — but it was working. For now.

Until it wasn’t.

Her phone buzzed again.

Three notifications.

KK: “You seeing Twitter??”

KK: “y’all about to be cooked”

Nika: “This how you ‘stayed inside all night’??”

Paige’s stomach dropped.

She yanked her phone back out and opened Twitter. And there it was.

A fan account post:

@WNBAOracle

“Throwback to All-Star last year — wait a damn minute 😳”

📸 Image attached

A grainy bar photo — someone taking a mirror selfie with players mingling behind them. It was just chaos and cocktails and half-blurry bodies…

But in the background?

Azzi.

Paige.

Azzi was leaning in close, laughing into Paige’s ear. Paige’s hand was curled around her glass, but Azzi’s hand? Firm on her hip.

And the caption on the photo from last year?

“Lowkey might’ve had the best night of my life that night 😂 #WNBAAllStar”

No one had noticed at the time. But now?

The quote tweets were unhinged.

“THIS WHOLE TIME??? 😭”

“girl that’s a thumb stroke on the hip you can’t tell me otherwise”

“Paige’s hand placement: respectful. Azzi’s: unholy.”

Paige swore softly under her breath and started pacing.

Because the replies weren’t even the worst of it — it was the threads beneath it. Fans doing side-by-side breakdowns. Matching outfits. Travel dates. Hoodie analysis. Rumored sightings. Timeline speculation.

They weren’t just guessing anymore.

They were connecting dots.

[tozettastone]

I've been thinking about the differences between attribution of ideas in fandom and in academia. There are reasons the academy is so strict on the attribution of ideas and the arts aren't.

Creating new knowledge is the backbone of academia (auspol please do not interact, I know ಠ⁠︵⁠ಠ). We need to know where ideas come from in part because we may later need to discover where our beliefs about the world diverged from the truth, especially if there are regrettable matters of research integrity at play. But more pragmatically, citation metrics make or break a researcher's career (and often a university's reputation and rankings) so they get measured to within an inch of propriety.

But in art, an idea is bloody cheap. Execution is what matters. Execution is where the skill is, and where the idea is actually communicated. We slurp up others' ideas into an artistic lexicon and allude to them casually and constantly. We build upon them as scaffold. That's how we got BOTH six billion allusions to Shakespeare and how we got the ever-evolving list of conventions relating to the unattributed omegaverse (with apologies to Addison Cain, of course).

When you get to transformative works, it's even murkier: what claim do you actually have upon ideas you've cooked up in the context of an artistic work when you're already playing in someone else's sandbox? Hard to know.

Then, it gets more complicated still: fandom is an active hobby community. We pretty well have to live with each other. Execution is still what matters — generally speaking I have seen absolutely no fandom sub-community that accepts straight-up plagiarism (here defined as representing someone else's execution of an idea as your own) — but I think we all know that if someone lifts an entire story outline, the liftee is going to be understandably pissed off, even if the execution is all original. That right there is the much-debated difference between "things that are absolutely morally wrong by the standards of the space in which we find ourselves," and "things that are mildly impolite but not really a moral issue."

All this is to say, at least for my part in this conversation, when I post about fic ideas, I am fully aware that it's very possible that someone will pick them up and go run with them without ever attributing their inspiration to me. And yes, if it's like an especially detailed blow-by-blow, dot pointy idea I had to cram under a readmore, or if it's lifted directly from a work in progress I was clearly posting about because I was working on it, I will probably have a whinge in private that someone did a dick move. I'm not, like, inhuman; I will always have the capacity to whinge about the predictable outcomes of my own behaviour.

But you gotta know: if it's something vague like "Akatsuki characters time travel together at this point in the plot and fuck up the timeline for good" or "Ichigo time travels to the turn back the pendulum arc and becomes Shinji's lieutenant and drives Aizen to drink," or "Kakuzu sells mermaid Hidan into the exotic pet trade and his buyers start out by demanding a refund but end up just giving him back because please please please take him back," that's not even an outline or a WIP or whatever — that's just, like, a concept. (But if you know me and I ✨ inspired you✨ then you should message me like 'I'M USING X TO MAKE Y,' obviously. But that's not about the attribution of ideas. Shhh.)

I've been asked about this kind of thing more often than you might imagine. Yes. Yes, you can take that idea. I love to get a @ on tumblr or AO3, but let's be honest, I wouldn't have posted it online if I thought I'd get REALLY upset that someone might borrow it without citing me. If I was desperate to be the first person to write an idea I felt was highly original, I'd have waited until I executed it and basked self indulgently in my own genius.

So like, yes: Go write about Itachi living on an abandoned farm and adopting a barn cat. Go write about soulmates who can write to each other on their skins. Go write your Akatsuki office au where Kakuzu is the bad tempered commercial director banging Hidan the rude receptionist. Go write your fic about Dorian Pavus's terrifying assimilation into Ferelden culture and the heart attack it gives his dad.

People spotting a stray concept in the wild and using it to support their own execution of that concept, especially when blended with other ideas, is just how arts-related stuff kind of works. Which is kind of useful, honestly? Like, otherwise how would we have developed such a rich tapestry of fun (and often dumb as fuck, bless us) narrative conventions from which to draw?

Anyway, I can only speak on the topic of people taking inspiration from my fics and posts, and YMMV, but in conclusion I think:

short ideas and concepts posted on social media are cheap

taking whole original characters, or lifting entire blow-by-blow outlines will likely cost you someone's good opinion and you'll be persona non grata with all their friends, so don't do it without asking, and

misrepresenting someone's actual execution of an idea as your own will cost you 1–3 limbs and probably also your head, as it should.

All three of these things have happened to me and I am absolutely certain you can figure out which one of the three I'm most likely to bitch about in public to a wide¹ audience on my blog. But I reckon I'd have very different expectations if I was conducting original research, my job was creating new knowledge, and my whole future rested on my H-index.

[whoopseydaisy]

when i say that adventuring academy is the kinkiest show on dropout

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

What the fuck it cut off my tags, whatever

I do deserve a treat :( Thank you <3

sorry for ranting, also sorry half the rant was cut off

this is the single worst way i've ever read to describe an erection, frank herbert

[yasministration]

Actually love you having Peter in the poly marauders smut! Everyone forgets about my baby lmao

I need a part 3 lmao I don’t know What I just know it’s a need. Love your writing

1 boyfriend, 1 invitation, 2 interruptions - poly!marauders

summary: you're at a lit party in the common room, and remus knows it's that time of the night when you begin to get needy. but with the full moon just 24 hours away, he can't be the one to fulfil your needs. wc: 3k+ cw: SMUT, voyeurism, exhibitionism, foursome(?), cum consumption, brief fingering... (1 bf, 3 pervs pt.3) read part 1 // 2 - bf! remus, sirius, james, peter

Remus was dripping with sweat, his shirt sticking to his skin in a way that overstimulated him just enough to the point of annoyance. But you were dancing on the other side of the room with marlene, and he knew it was the time of the night when you started to get needy. And even worse? You were ovulating. He could smell it on you. From the moment he woke up, trudging down to the common room, he knew what point you’d reached in your cycle. But Remus couldn’t help you, not with the full moon so close. His bones had already started to ache with the transformation only 24 hours away, and he felt guilty for not being able to satisfy your needs. Your eyes found his across the room, and instantly, a smile was blossoming on your face and you were ditching Marlene on the dance floor to meet your boyfriend. You threw your arms over Remus’s shoulders and pressed yourself on your tippy toes to kiss him deeply. Remus’s hands lingered on your waist and he sighed into the kiss. You frowned, pulling away to look up at your tired boyfriend. “You alright sweetheart?” He nodded, fingers intertwining with yours. 

“Yeah. You alright if it’s not me who fucks you tonight?” Your eyes widened at his bluntness. Usually, you both played a game of teasing touches and long kisses before one of you dragged the other upstairs, giggles warning his roommates of the events taking place in their dorm. “I- what do you mean?” Remus nodded his head across the common room, gesturing for you to follow him. You snaked through dancing bodies until you were stood in a secluded part of the room, where Sirius chatted with the Prewett twins, a cigarette hanging between his lips. Remus threw an arm around Sirius’s shoulders, joining in on light conversation. Sirius glanced towards you, a smile forming on his lips. “Hey, you.” He teased, and you felt your face growing warmer than it already was. You reached across Remus for Sirius’s cigarette. “Can I?” “Anything for you, sweetheart.” He flirted, dropping the cigarette between his fingers and handing it to you.

“You mind if I steal him away from you boys for a bit?” Remus cut in just as you blew the smoke away, tugging Sirius in his direction. The twins shook their heads, saying their goodbyes, and Remus led you by the hand deeper in the common room and Sirius by the arm around his shoulders. You wound up in a small room where you usually spent after parties together, or afternoons with the boys planning pranks and you begging your boyfriend for attention. It was dark. With only one tall window making space for moonlight, and a dim fireplace, it was always the perfect place to share secrets and gossip. No one really knew about this room, so with Remus’s genius and Peter’s ambiverted love for privacy, the marauders decided to create a system where only you and the four boys could enter this room. Which was perfect for Remus’s plan. You thew the cigarette into the fireplace and sat on the only couch in the room, swinging your legs up to rest on the cushions, dress riding up in the process.

Sirius began walking over to you, but Remus held him back, pulling the boy closer to him. “Listen, no matter what, you can’t cum inside her.” Sirius’s eyebrows shot up, and he grinned widely. “You’re letting me fuck your girlfriend?” Instead of answering, Remus just repeated “I’ll kill you if you cum inside her.” “Well can I cum inside you?” The retort came quick, and had Remus jerking away from Sirius in shock. His heart started to race, and despite the fact that he could hear Sirius’s heart racing with nerves, his confident front intimidated Remus. Sirius stepped closer to Remus, putting a hand on his hip as he leaned in close, pressing a short kiss to his lips. Remus froze and his eyes drifted to where you sat watching them, a smile on your face. “Think of it while I make love to your girlfriend.” Sirius teased, turning around to face you. He quickly climbed over you on the couch, immediately capturing your lips in a kiss. “I was worried you guys were going to have all the fun without me.” You muttered against Sirius’s lips, a hand playing with his hair whilst the other hugged him closer to you.

Remus swallowed thickly. He remembered how angry he was last time he saw Sirius kiss you, but now, feeling Sirius’s lips on his? It ignited something in him. A flash of movement knocked him out of his daze, and he blinked a couple of times, watching Sirius throw his shirt somewhere in the room. Remus slowly sat on the floor near the fireplace, where he had the perfect view of you and Sirius: tongues tangling in a messy kiss, hands wandering under layers of clothes. Sirius gasped when you palmed his cock under his trousers, bucking his hips into your hand. “Take them off.” Sirius was off you in an instant, tripping over his feet to take his trousers off. Just as Sirius gripping the hem of his boxers, the door slammed open. “Oh that’s not fair!” Cried Peter the instant he realised what was happened. Sirius froze, unsure what to do, but you were instantly dragging him back onto you by the hand, calling out “Pete, I promise it’s your turn next!” The squeak of Pete’s “Okay!” was drowned out by James’s jealous groan and whine of “What about me?”

The two boys sat next to Remus on the floor, who looked at them and asked “How’d you guys know we were here?” James shrugged, replying with “We didn’t, but Pete got sick of the party so we escaped.” “Ten times better, this is.” Added the blonde boy, taking a swig of beer. You broke your kiss with Sirius, causing his moans to get louder as you continued stroking his cock. “Only ten?” You teased, letting go of Sirius’s cock so that he could tug your dress over your head. You giggled when he eagerly pounced on you, lips connecting with your neck as he shimmied your lace panties off. 

Sirius gripped his cock, one hand on your hip, but his movements were quickly stalled by a call from your boyfriend. “Don’t just stick it in! What, have you never had sex before?” Remus grunted, trying to push himself up from the floor. He winced, and Peter immediately rushed to help him up. Remus limped over to you both, his bad leg suddenly acting up, and he flopped on the couch next to you and Sirius. Sirius’s cheeks were flushed bright red in humiliation as Remus cupped one of your cheeks, a look of adoration on his face as he trailed his second hand down your abdomen and to your pussy. He easily found your clit, rubbing steady circles on you, watching as wetness pooled between your legs, listening closely to the way your breath hitched in your throat. Remus slid his fingers down to your entrance, effortlessly plunging them into you and pumping them inside you a few times. Sirius gasped loudly, watching as you clasped your hand around his dick, stroking him, your own lips parted in a breathy moan. Remus’s fingers slid out of you, and he put them in his mouth, humming in satisfaction as he rose off the couch once more, leaning on both James and Peter’s shoulders to help lower himself into the ground. 

“Go ahead.” Sirius followed Remus’s encouragement, lowering himself closer to you and guiding his cock down to your entrance. He slowly pushed into you, biting his bottom lip as though it would help him control his movements. “Jesus, I’ve been waiting for this forever.” He groaned, throwing his head back as he bottomed out. You moaned, grabbing Sirius by the shoulders and pulling him closer to you, until his chest was touching yours. You dug your nails into his shoulders, distantly hearing Remus scoff “Yeah, I’m still waiting to get that picture back by the way.” 

Sirius immediately set a fast pace, hips snapping into yours with a brutality that would leave angry bruises on your skin tomorrow. “Kiss me, Sirius.” You begged, and Remus watched possessively from across the room as Sirius lowered himself down to connect his mouth to yours in an open mouthed-kiss, tongues hungrily gliding against each other. Remus furrowed his eyebrows: It wasn’t jealousy he felt, no, it was something more powerful than that. lt was a desire, a craving. You arched your back, detaching your and Sirius’s lips in the process, mouth opening in a high pitched moan that had the three watching boys hardening in their trousers. Well, Remus was hard ages ago, but that was besides the point.

Sirius’s lips travelled down your face to your chest, and he cupped your breasts, guiding one of them towards his mouth, where his lips wrapped around your nipple and he started sucking harshly. You gasped loudly, wrapping your legs around Sirius’s waist and using them to tug him closer to you. You both gasped as he suddenly pushed into you balls-deep, and Sirius was instantly cringing from the way he almost burst, bringing a hand down to your cunt and between your folds to find your clit. He shut his eyes in focus until he finally found your clit, extracting an immediate reaction out of you. “Fuck!” Sirius cursed against your skin, stopping his thrusts to grind into you instead, trying to hold himself back from coming whilst making you cum too. 

Sirius switched his mouth to your second nipple, and the second he began suckling in it, you were coming with a loud moan that had James worriedly glancing towards the room’s closed door. You snaked a hand into Sirius’s hair, harshly pulling it in a way that had Sirius crying out loudly, pulling out of you in a hurry to he could release his load onto your stomach, Remus’s threat ringing in his mind. Sirius groaned as he caught his breath, finally making eye contact with you and spotting the smile on your face. You giggled, glancing down at the milky ropes of cum on your abdomen, dipping your finger into it before putting it in your mouth and humming in satisfaction, making a show of pushing your chest out as you shut your eyes. 

Sirius pushed himself up, stumbling away from you as he caught his breath, reaching for his boxers. “Oh god, I need a break. I’ll be back for you though.” Panted Sirius, winking at you flirtatiously as he slumped down on the red rug. 

You pouted, humming with pretense disappointment, before grinning again. “You do? Oh well. Pete, get over here.” The boy stood up quickly, tripping over his feet as he rushed over you, taking his jacket off. “How is she doing that?” Asked Sirius, looking over to Remus with wide eyes. “She’s ovulating.” “Fuck that’s hot.” The mumble came from James, who’d been unusually quiet all night. Remus and Sirius both looked at him, smirks on their faces at the sight of the boy shyly palming his cock through his jeans. “Shut up.” He said, face flushing at the sight of his best friends staring at him. Remus re-averted his gaze towards you, grinning when you tangled your hand through Peter’s soft blond hair. The boy looked up at you through lust-filled eyes, and he leaned down to lick a bold stripe up your stomach, cleaning you of Sirius’s cum. 

Your mouth dropped in shock. You weren’t expecting that from sweet, shy Peter, and you certainly weren’t expecting him to come back up and connect your lips in a sloppy kiss, letting you taste Sirius’s cum on his tongue. You eagerly unbuttoned Peter’s shirt, and he aided you in its removal, peeling off his undershirt too. While Peter busied himself with taking of his trousers, you spun around to lay down your stomach, on your knees with your chest flat on the couch. Peter’s breath hitched loudly, both his hands coming to your ass to grope at the fat, his jaw slack in awe. “Pete?” You pushed your ass back, encouraging the boy to run the tip of his cock through your folds before teasingly dipping into your entrance. Peter groaned, all patience dissipating from his body as he finally felt the inside of your gummy walls pulsing around his cock. 

Beggars can’t be choosers, or in other words, he had been waiting too long to feel your cunt on his cock to be the one teasing you. Since you were well prepared by Sirius, Peter had no trouble pushing into you all the way from the get go. He didn’t recognize the sound that escaped his body; despite his extreme pleasure, it sounded like a mix of pain and discomfort, but perhaps it was just Peter trying to stop himself from immediately coming. You didn’t realise that maybe going for a second round so quickly may have an effect on your body, because almost as soon as Peter began thrusting into you, your thighs had started shaking. 

Peter gathered the hair behind your head in a loose hold, cooling you down despite the hot sweat glimmering on your skin. A steady string of moans escaped you with each slam of Peter’s cock into your pussy. Your body jerked forward, skin painfully pulling on the brown leather of the couch underneath you, but the sting only added to your pleasure. You squeezed your legs together in a desperate attempt to add friction to your clit, and Peter seemed to sense your discomfort, leaning down so his chest touched yours as he wrapped an arm around your front, his other tightly gripping the arm of the couch. His loud pants wrung in your ear and he grunted, pulling your chest off the couch so you could rest both your arms next to his on the arm of the couch. You tried thanking him, but all that came out was a breathy mumble of syllables.

“Fuck!” You cried, suddenly arching your back against Peter’s chest as he found a new angle, the tip of his cock grazing your cervix with each hump of his hips.

“Oh Pete!” You moaned, throwing your head back in pleasure, eyes stapling shut. “Looks like you’ve got some competition.” James muttered to Sirius, now stroking himself underneath his boxers. Sirius didn’t reply, but a grumble vibrated in his chest, making James chuckle. “Don’t worry, when I get my chance with her, she’ll prefer mine over Pete’s.” Sirius scoffed, crossing his arms over his naked chest. “You gonna challenge Remus now too?” The boy fired back, glancing at you when you let out a particularly loud moan. He didn’t receive an answer from James, but Remus, who laughed whole heartedly, slapping a hand on his chest. “You boys are lucky I even let you see her naked.” James and Sirius gulped in unison, shying away from eye contact with Remus “Oh god!” You cried when Peter’s fingers found your clit, rubbing desperately when his thighs started shaking, on the brink of his orgasm. 

“Fuck, cum for me.” He begged, voice breaking, thrusts becoming sloppy. His words were like a trigger for you, activating your orgasm. Peter continued thrusting into you as you moaned loudly until you were telling him to stop “I can’t, I-“ Peter happily pulled out, letting you slump down on the couch as he brought his hand to his  cock, giving himself two good pumps until he was coming all over your back with a broken up moan. “Oh shit, oh fuck, I’m sorry.” He mumbled, catching his breath and looking around the room for some tissues. James threw the box of tissues at Peter, who barely caught it, spurts of cum still shooting out of his cock. Peter fumbled with the box when his orgasm finally wore off before wiping his cum off you. The boy put a hand on your shoulder, feeling the way your body rose and fell with each breath you took. “You okay?” He asked worriedly, helping you sit up properly when you began to move. You nodded your head, watching as James stood up from his place in the floor to pick up your discarded dress. “You boys are my heroes.” You muttered with a teasing smile, glancing around at the four boys in the room. “Yeah?” James asked, approaching you and helping you pull your dress over your body. You nodded, sticking your arms through the right holes and put your hands out for James to help you up.

He gladly pulled you off the couch, one hand securing itself around your waist and you pointed in Remus’s direction. “Take me to my boyfriend, will you?” Remus stood up at your words, opening his arms when you finally reached him and accepting the eager kiss you planted on his lips. Remus groaned quietly, hugging you closer to him and letting you slip your tongue in his mouth. With your lips on his, and bodies so close to each other, Remus forgot about the others in the room, hearing the steady beat of your heart. You broke away from the kiss, leaning your forehead against his whilst offering “How about we shower and go to bed? Make sure you’re well rested before tomorrow?” Remus nodded, and you were instantly sliding your hand in his and guiding him out of the room and into his dorm.

Sirius, James and Peter stood silently in the room, watching you both leave, before turning to each other. “Well, I can’t complain.” Shrugged Peter, tucking himself back into his trousers. Sirius barked out a laugh, muttering words of agreement whilst James huffed in disappointment. “I didn’t even cum!” Sirius wrapped an arm over the boy’s shoulders, guiding him to the couch. “Don’t worry mate, I’ll take care of you.” And James was instantly blushing and taking off his trousers for his best friend, leaving Peter to smoke a cigarette by the open window. 

taglist:

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28

[pearlprincess02]

8th house synastry overlays (inner planets)

outer planets overlay & asteroids overlay

sun in 8th house overlay

sun person: for the sun person, this synastry creates a profound pull towards self-revelation and growth, sparking a strong curiosity about hidden aspects of the self and the 8th house person. on the positive side, this can lead to deep self-awareness, transformation, and a desire to bring hidden emotions to light, fostering intimacy. however, the sun person's ego may also experience struggles with possessiveness or control, feeling as though they must “own” parts of the 8th house person to maintain closeness. this can be a test of their ability to balance self-expression with respect for the 8th house person's boundaries.

8th house person: the 8th house person feels both magnetized and exposed by the sun's presence, as the sun's warmth shines into their hidden depths. on the positive side, they may find the courage to face fears, emotional wounds, or past traumas, which the sun person helps bring into perspective. however, the 8th house person may also feel an intense urge to shield their vulnerabilities, leading to power struggles or emotional defensiveness. if their ego becomes overprotective, they may struggle with feelings of mistrust, pulling away just as the relationship deepens.

couple tropes: intense soulmates, beauty & the beast, healing touch, power play, lovers in the dark, the sacrifice, unbreakable bond, the obsession, shadow & light, forbidden love

moon in 8th house overlay

moon person: in this synastry, the moon person feels a deep, almost magnetic emotional attraction to the 8th house person, sensing that they can access parts of themselves they rarely show others. positively, this can create a rare, profound intimacy, where the moon person feels safe exploring and sharing their vulnerabilities, sensing the 8th house person's ability to hold space for intense emotions. however, this bond can also lead to fears of emotional dependency or feeling “lost” in the connection, as the depth of the relationship may trigger unresolved emotional wounds. the moon person may experience moments of jealousy or possessiveness, feeling that the 8th house person has a unique hold over their heart.

8th house person: for the 8th house person, the moon's presence feels like a spotlight on their deepest, most hidden emotions, stirring feelings they may normally keep under wraps. positively, this can encourage them to face their vulnerabilities and let the moon person in, which can foster trust and emotional growth. yet, the depth of the connection may also make them feel exposed, leading to fears of emotional vulnerability or of the moon person discovering parts of them they haven’t fully accepted themselves. if their guard goes up, they may oscillate between craving closeness and pulling away, making the relationship feel both exhilarating and unsettling.

couple tropes: the empath & the shadow, emotional alchemists, the secret keepers, magnetic attraction, the protector & the vulnerable, the mirror soul, haunted hearts, unseen bond, emotional labyrinth, depths of desire

mercury in 8th house overlay

mercury person: the mercury person feels drawn to explore deeper, more intimate topics with the 8th house person, naturally steering conversations towards hidden truths and psychological insights. on the positive side, this can lead to profoundly revealing dialogues where the mercury person feels free to discuss their fears, desires, and mysteries they’d typically keep private. they might gain transformative insights from these exchanges, finding the 8th house person uniquely perceptive. however, the intensity of these conversations may sometimes make the mercury person feel exposed or emotionally drained, and they might worry about saying too much, fearing it could give the 8th house person undue power over them.

8th house person: for the 8th house person, the mercury person's words have a way of reaching into their most private thoughts, encouraging them to reveal parts of themselves they may usually keep hidden. positively, this can feel cathartic, as though the mercury person understands and articulates their unspoken fears and desires. the 8th house person may feel grateful for the connection, viewing the mercury person as a guide through their inner complexities. however, they may also feel unnerved, as the mercury person's probing questions and insights might make them feel exposed or vulnerable. this can lead to moments of guardedness, especially if they feel they’re sharing more than they’re comfortable with.

couple tropes: the truth seekers, mind readers, the interrogator & the confessor, whispered secrets, unspoken understanding, the psychological sleuths, the puzzle pieces, intrigue, the confidants, unmaskers

venus in 8th house overlay

venus person: in this synastry, the venus person feels a profound and magnetic attraction to the 8th house person, often experiencing love that transcends the surface and delves into the depths of emotional intimacy. on the positive side, this connection fosters an intense romantic bond, where the venus person feels cherished and desired, allowing them to express their love freely and authentically. they thrive in this environment of vulnerability, as it encourages their innate desire for closeness. however, the intensity of the connection can also lead to possessiveness or insecurity, with the venus person sometimes feeling overwhelmed by the emotional demands of the relationship, leading to fears about losing the depth of connection they crave.

8th house person: for the 8th house person, the presence of venus can feel like a transformative force, inviting them to explore love on a deeper, more profound level. positively, they may find themselves more open to experiencing vulnerability and intimacy, as venus encourages them to share their emotional world and embrace romance without fear. the 8th house person may feel adored and understood, as if their hidden desires are finally acknowledged. however, this intensity can also provoke feelings of insecurity or overwhelm, as they navigate the depths of their own emotions alongside the venus person's desires. they might sometimes feel the need to retreat when the emotional stakes feel too high, leading to fluctuations in their commitment.

couple tropes: forbidden love, passionate lovers, emotional rollercoaster, the secrets of the heart, intimacy experts, transformative love, the soulmates, dual nature, healing love, the unbreakable bond

mars in 8th house overlay

mars person: in this synastry, the mars person feels an intense surge of passion towards the 8th house person, often experiencing a magnetic attraction that ignites their desire for both physical and emotional intimacy. on the positive side, this connection can lead to a dynamic sexual chemistry, where both partners feel empowered to express their needs and desires freely. the mars person may find that their assertiveness complements the 8th house person's depth, resulting in a stimulating and fulfilling relationship. however, the intensity of this dynamic can also trigger aggressive tendencies, leading to power struggles or conflicts, especially if the mars person feels challenged or if their assertiveness crosses the line into dominance. they may have to navigate feelings of jealousy or possessiveness, which can complicate the passionate bond.

8th house person: For the 8th house person, the presence of mars intensifies their emotional landscape, awakening a desire for passionate connection and exploration of hidden desires. Positively, they may feel emboldened to embrace their own sexuality and assertiveness, driven by the energy mars brings into the relationship. This dynamic can empower them to confront their fears and engage in transformative experiences with the mars person. However, the intensity can also lead to emotional volatility, as the 8th house person may feel overwhelmed by the raw passion and aggression that mars embodies. They may grapple with feelings of vulnerability and defensiveness, especially if they perceive the mars person's assertiveness as threatening their emotional safety or autonomy.

couple tropes: fire & ice, lovers & fighters, dark desires, emotional warriors, intense magnetism, wild ride, the shadow dance, the sexual awakening, transformation, the unruly pair

all observations are done by me !!! @pearlprincess02

main masterlist

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 6 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: serious blood play ( it only gets worse from here, folks. welcome to hell), the realization that feyd has been scenting her, the harkonnen's have a supernatural sense of smell, minor talk of feelings, lots of talk and show of devotion, the baron, the mention of breeding, dubious consent.

word count: 7.6k

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ೃ࿔ savage bonds masterlist

Something dark was building up- roiling inside of him. 

It had a mind of its own. 

It didn’t belong to him. . . not really. It was its own entity entirely. 

It called to him in the middle of the night, waking him up from a dead, dreamless sleep. For a moment he stared at the slate grey wall, searching for any imperfections. When he found none he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn’t quite sure what he was searching for. Maybe a black hole to swallow him up. . . or an answer to his many questions. 

It wasn’t in his nature to be good. If anything, it felt off to display any kind of affection. Niceties were always just a means to get something that he wanted. Goodness was something he had to practice. A skill he honed over the years so that he could carry a conversation with those that weren’t raised by the same closed, hard knuckled fists that he was.  

It oozed off of you so naturally. Dripped from your mouth and your gentle hands. It was something that you freely created, and with zero effort at that. The thought of it used to infuriate him. He had heard about you, his promised one in passing. He’d always wanted you, from the first moment he’d met you back when you were children. 

And while he was. . . ��infatuated with you? Yearned for you? Loved you? He wasn’t sure himself what it was that he felt, just that it had seeped itself into his very marrow- regardless of his feelings, he resented the fact that you weren’t cut from the same cloth. Feyd never minded the idea of putting you on a pedestal and protecting you. He’d play the part of your knight well, just as long as you’d let him relish in his misdeeds. No, he resented your kindness because he knew that eventually someone like him would use that against you. He had always wondered when it would happen. Had it happened on your planet when he hadn’t been there by your side? Or perhaps that moment had finally come whilst you were out on an excursion with your parent’s, making nice with other nobility.

You see, he hated the idea of anyone inflicting pain on you or inspiring fear in you. He wanted to be the soul owner of those sensations. Feyd could smell your fear in the air, the naturally floral scent of your skin turning slightly powdery the second that your pupils dilated and your heartbeat sped up. When he was in an enclosed space with you, like that damned closet, he could even taste it on his tongue. He often wondered if you were the same as he was in some aspects. If he choked you to the point of total oxygen deprivation would you cum harder? What if he ran his nails along your back and chest until you bled? Would you beg for him then? 

No. . . probably not.

 You were just as alien to him as he was to you. He didn’t see the world through your eyes, but as of late he wished that he could. Feyd wanted to know you so that he might be able to handle you better. 

No. . . that wasn’t it. 

Feyd wanted to know your favorite food and to be able to taste it for himself. Did you have animals back on Caladan and did you care enough about them to name them? Did you love anyone other than your family? He wanted you to tell him, in detail, what that was like. How did it feel to care for someone in that way, and how did you always make it look so easy to do so? What did you dream of when you closed your eyes to sleep at night? Did you prefer the night to the day and if you could ever get used to the thick smog that blocked your view from the sky, did you ever think at any point that you might stay with him here once everything was said and done?

He found no answers etched into the ceiling, and if they were really there, well then it was far too dark to tell. Instead he turned on his other side, his eyes instantly falling onto your resting form. He noted the way your lashes fluttered, eyes moving beneath your lids as you dreamed. 

Did he haunt you the same way you haunted him? 

His hand moved beneath his thin bed sheets, ghosting over your cheek. Instead he moved his finger just below your nose, feeling the warmth of your breaths. Someone had been so close to stopping those sleepy sighs completely, and while he had killed the perpetrators, the culprit was still in his own bedchambers, fat and bloated with greed. 

He knew what the Baron dreamt of: death and power. 

Feyd doubted that his uncle was finding any sort of trouble sleeping after what he had done. He’d gorge himself on food come the morning, another plan soon solidifying in his twisted mind. 

The dark thing moved inside of his chest again, jerking awake so severely that Feyd could only sit up in bed, his hands flying to his sides so that he could grip at the mattress and not your delicate face on accident. The feathers didn’t feel as satisfying as a throat would, but he squeezed down regardless, imagining his uncle’s fat neck breaking beneath his unyielding strength. Would he try to say something to his nephew in his last moments? Would his eyes flash at his own blood’s betrayal. . . or would he stare at him in silent hatred? 

No matter. Feyd reckoned that he would soon find out. 

People die everyday. The weak had to be culled, that was what he had been taught afterall. Powerful men were able to move the weak like pawns, but Feyd preferred to do everything by himself. That was the difference between him and his uncle. 

Feyd liked dirtying his hands. Vladimir had the numbers to command, but those men were all just as intimidated of his nephew as they were of him. The Na-Baron had two things that the “all powerful” Siridar-Baron did not: fangs and the ability to wield them. There was no weapon, unfamiliar or not, that Feyd couldn’t pick up and wield as though he had trained with them his whole life. There was no form of combat that he hadn’t honed his body with. Even worse, the Baron had raised Feyd with particular interest. He’d taught him since boyhood how to intimidate, barter, and kill legions of enemies with as little as a few words and harshly bit out threats. Above all else, Vladimir Harkonnen had taught Feyd-Rautha how to think and move across the game board just as he himself did. 

While Vladimir had faceless, nameless pawns to command at will, his nephew had only one other playable piece on his side. If it had just been Feyd against his uncle then he would have already razed the entirety of the empire that he’d been raised in to the ground. He’d deliver the embers up to the black sun as a final offering before leaving. Heading for you. 

Feyd wasn’t sure how something so weak could find its way to him. Better yet, that small, weak thing now lived inside of him, just as that nasty, violent entity did. There was once a time where he believed that they would always be separate. One could not live if the other was already inhabiting its host. . . but that was before. 

Before that first kiss. Before the first softening of your gaze. Before you. 

Slowly he laid back down, his head turning on instinct so that he could continue to watch you. So long as you were breathing then so shall he. He’d never had something that he needed to protect before. It felt heavy, but it wasn’t a bad thing- just a reminder that you were there. Still dreaming. Still loving. Death had always meant that there was something or someone better than him out there. If he had died then that just meant that he didn’t deserve to live. He had always been the type of warrior that craved to die in battle. How invigorating would it be to die by someone’s better trained hands? He’d watch with grave interest and jealousy as they carved him up. Feyd would want to feel everything. Experience it all with wide eyes so that he might learn and better himself even in his final moments. 

Feyd laid there in his bed though, the idea of being a coward playing over and over again in his mind. Could he run if it meant that you’d live? Yes. That fact was startling. So much in fact that it threatened to undo absolutely everything that he’d ever been taught. Every unspoken code that he lived by was being erased, replaced by an intrinsic need to be by your side. 

‘Could you accept her hatred?’ Yes, if need be. 

‘Would you let her paint you as a monster if her conscience called for it?’ Whatever it took. He couldn’t look back. 

‘What if it meant that she could never love you?’ Hate mirrored love in the grand scheme of things. He’d take whatever you’d give him willingly and without complaint, so long as you would let him pour his own affections into you. 

Feyd would continue to take. . . and take. . . and take. 

His next steps would all have to be carefully calculated. If he were in his uncle’s shoes then he would want to wait until after his enemy’s wedding, especially if it were obvious that suspicions were high. The pale man laid in bed for the rest of that night, his mind swimming with every possible step his uncle would take and might have already taken. If this were all going to work out then he would have to make sure that you were able to fight at his side when the time came. Despite his skill, it would be impossible to take an entire army on by himself, even if he timed things correctly. Feyd would have to start sowing seeds of doubt amongst his Uncle’s followers. He’d start with the men that had been assigned to his dimwit brother, Glossu. He’d no doubt side with their uncle when this all came to an end, though he’d be easy enough to dispose of. He was large, yes, but he was slow. He functioned off of anger and anger alone, which made him sloppy. Feyd could slit his throat whilst he slept and watch him gurgle on his own blood and dying breaths with not even a semblance of compassion. 

This evening he needed to start small though: the guards that you’d tried to distract at the door and those that saw the two of you fleeing down the hall. Whether or not he wanted to blame the two of you being alone in the Baron’s wing together on a moment of passion, he knew that his uncle would be all too suspicious. He’d have to do away with all of them before they could say anything. Feyd could blame the killings on his recent boredom and the rising tensions before the marriage. Either way, he knew the Siridar-Baron was less likely to become suspicious of his actions if he was to blame it on his own blood lust. 

He resented the fact that he’d still have to play the part of the Baron’s “beloved” nephew. Feyd wondered until the black sun rose high in the sky, the moonlight seeping from the room and plunging them in darkness yet again, whether or not he could even play nice with the man for a few more days. Everything inside of him, even now, screamed out at him: kill him. Kill him. 

He’d take out your adversaries one by one as the days passed. Whether you knew it or not, Feyd was completely at your disposal.

The memory of home had collected to a single point, dripping from your mind like liquid to pool at your feet. 

Your horse’s breath coming from his wide, kind mouth in thick plumes of aqueous smoke. Paul’s careful but unyielding fists flying past your cheeks in the training room. Your mother’s gentle hands cupping your face, the skin of her palms so soft and thin that you were scared that one day they might just tear against your lashes. Your father’s indulgent smile, always curious. 

In the moments that you spent by yourself in your now shared living quarters you found yourself clinging to their voices as well as the exact color of their eyes. You wondered if there would be a day that you would forget all of it. You had to stand in front of the mirror just the other day, hands palming your face, trying to remember every point of resemblance between you and your twin that your parents had always so lovingly pointed out. 

How long have you been on Giedi Prime? You tried to count on your fingers as you waited for Feyd to come back from wherever he’d stormed off to. How many nights have you slept in Feyd’s bed as opposed to the one that you’d been originally assigned? The wedding had been pushed back a few days due to the attempt on your life, but had your parents been made aware of the act? How many times have you eaten in the large dining room, miles of space between seats, feeling no more than a spectator of the life around you? You tried to imagine each breakfast, lunch and dinner that had been placed before you over the days, but the tan, black, and brown meats and side dishes all looked the same. They broke apart in your mouth and settled on your tongue like sand. 

You remembered staring up at that black sun for the very first time with wide, horrified eyes. When did it swallow you up? What day? Hour? Minute? Mentally you turned back the clock, wondering when it was that you lost the will to count down the days, the only thought on your mind being your own survival. You’d been lost to a planet that wanted you dead. 

Driven into a corner, you’d given in to your flight or fight instincts. The only thing on your mind at all hours of the day was the “when” and the ���how”. When would the Baron strike next? How did he plan on taking you out? There wasn’t much of a reason to wonder why. You supposed he hadn’t taken a liking to you or had grown bored somehow. Vladimir never struck you as a man that followed the rules if he felt as though they didn’t give him a personal advantage, even the ones that the Bene Gesserit set in place. 

Shaky fingers reached up to brush against your lips, as though you could still feel Feyd’s brushing against them. That man. . . that infuriating man had done something to you. His constant mind tricks were beginning to wear you down and it seemed as though you were finally buckling under the intense pressure of it all. You nearly fell forward, catching yourself against the side of one of the black settees in the sitting area, eyes closing against your will as the memory of his dominance washed over you, nearly pulling you out into a sea of want and need with the high tides of your own desire. You had been drowning for days, no buoy in sight. Eventually you’d tire yourself, fighting against the power of those waves. Even now your limbs shook with the overexertion of it all. 

Your lips still tasted of sea water. 

Has this been their plan all along? Were you losing your mind? The non stop seduction had somehow made such a horrific place more bearable. Bearable enough that, even in your own overwhelming paranoia, you’d lost track of how many days, hours, minutes, seconds you’d been away from everything you’d ever known and loved. 

When the Na-Baron returned to the room you didn’t ask about the blood that clung to his pale skin, nor the crazed look in his eyes. By the time he was done showering, no doubt scrubbing off more carnage that your eyes hadn’t been able to see in the brief seconds that the two of you had stared at one another, the light had returned to his eyes. He was Feyd again. Just Feyd. 

Perhaps even your Feyd. 

He stood before you, wearing nothing but a pair of skin tight trousers that reminded you of what he so often trained in. He hadn’t dried off well enough, and you wondered if he’d been in a hurry to be in your presence. ‘Nonsense.’ You thought ruefully to yourself. The skewed view that your mind had created of Feyd Rautha-Harkonnen was nothing but a lie. A farce. 

Living so closely with someone that wasn’t completely evil was more bearable than being held in a room with just another Harkonnen that wanted you dead. He was one of them, no matter how many times he tried to tell you differently. 

Droplets of water ran down his pale chest. For a single, selfish moment you allowed yourself the time it took to follow one of the ephemeral bead’s trail. Down the line of his neck, pooling ever so slightly at his defined collarbone, before sliding down the harsh lines and planes of his chest and abs. It soaked into the waistband of his pants, dying there without even a whisper. 

Would you die there too eventually? Would he split you into two and forget about you? Would he leave you bleeding and broken on your shared marital bed? You had to bite off a sob before it ripped from your chest, especially when he finally opened his mouth to speak after what felt like hours of prolonged, painful silence. 

“Everything I do, from this point on, is for you. Even if I have to tell lies, know that my body and my mind would never betray you.” His eyes were searing, burning holes into your own. 

He was constantly flickering between personalities. One second he treated you as though you were as fragile as gossamer stretched thin over your mother’s bone china, and then the next it was as though he was staring at his own reflection; like you were a mirror image of every dark desire he’d ever had. 

Like called to like. 

“How will I know that you’re not betraying me? Feyd, my life is at stake here. I can’t spend what might be my final hours-” He closed the distance between you in a single long legged stride, reaching out to grip your wrist in his large hand. The size difference between the two of you had once made you shake at the knees. At one point he had seemed like an unclimbable obstacle that stood between you and your freedom. What was he to you now? 

“Stop talking like that,” He bit out, the muscles in his shoulders visibly tense at the mention of such finality. “I will cross one finger against the other when I’m telling a lie. Something only for you to see and to know.” He held up his free hand, demonstrating for you as he wrapped his middle finger over his pointer. 

A signal. 

“And how do I know that even that is the truth?” You whispered, the words painful to utter. 

Lost. You were so lost here. Somewhere along the way you had forgotten which way was up and which way was down. Would anyone blame you for asking him to prove his loyalty? Was it really so selfish to need such assurance? 

The pressure of his hold on your wrist loosened as he looked down at you, his jawline clicking. You could practically see the thoughts flashing behind his blue-grey eyes. Finally he settled on something, letting you go completely so that he could walk over towards the bed you had shared. Slowly he bent his large, broad body down, his pale hand running along the bottom of the frame. He retrieved a long, thinly crafted blade and showed it to you. 

‘Every night that you’ve slept here could have been your last.’ It was a confession, you supposed. Was he trying to show you how weak and naive you were? You’d checked the cushions in the seating area, beneath his pillows and mattress- but you hadn’t thought to check the bedframe for any sort of weapon that could be used against you. Shame slapped you across the face, and yet again you were reminded of how weak you were. 

Weak and stupid, the worst kind of combination. 

He moved back over towards you, the blade still clutched in one of his hands while his other reached back out for you. He took hold of your wrist again, even as you began shaking your head. “No, please. . .” You whined out, your pupils blowing out wide as your heart began to race. 

His nostrils flared and for a second he just stood there, the blade in one hand and your wrist in the other. “There’s no need to be afraid.” When he spoke in hushed tones like this it almost sounded like a hiss. You thought back to your first meeting with the Reverend Mother, your stomach clenching as a new kind of fear settled over you. 

Feyd had never been a man. He had always been an animal. The person before you wasn’t. . . wasn’t like you. He could treat you softly, but things like that didn’t come naturally to him. Reassuring you at all went against the basis of who he was, and still he tried. 

“My flesh is yours,” He told you, holding your gaze as he pressed the blade against his forearm. “As is my blood.” You flinched and tried to wrench your hand away from his as you watched him press against the leather handle. Onyx blossomed from the cut and fell onto your hand. It pooled in your palm as you fought to slide your wrist from his hold. It was so warm. . . and you wanted it to stop. 

“Enough.” You barked out, trying your hardest to take a step back from him. He kept you in place, his face displaying no sense of pain or even discomfort. 

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap?” 

He pressed the blade down harder, the small streams of blood turning into a river. It dripped from between your fingers and began to seep down the front of your linen day-dress. “Everything I am in exchange for all that you have to offer.” 

“There’s an animal kind of trick.”

“Feyd, enough.” Your voice shook as you stared in horror at the blood. All of that blood. . . for you. 

All that he was. All that he would ever be. 

In exchange. 

He dropped the blade beside him, the loud clanging sound causing your shoulders to quiver. The pale man stared at your hand for a few seconds and all you could do was watch him, your whines and prayers for him to stop whatever this was dying out on your tongue. His eyes. . . oh, heavens. You felt as though you’d disintegrate into nothing but ashes where you stood. The light in those blue eyes had been completely snuffed out and all that remained was darkness. It was almost as though the shadows that seemed to constantly wrap themselves around him had seeped beneath his skin. There were no pupils. No irises. Just. . . black. As black as his blood that now coated your hands. 

He was everywhere. Feyd was everywhere you looked, every scent you breathed in, every touch and sensation- and your chest heaved with some sort of emotion that you couldn’t decipher. It felt as though your heart was ripping at your lungs, at your throat, begging to be let out. You needed to be freed of these horrible, sinful thoughts. 

The pale Harkonnen warrior stared at you as though you were the beginning and end of everything. Nothing else existed outside of this room. The sight of his own life essence spilling down your skin, staining you. . . was the epitome of perversion. 

This animal- this paragon looked at you with phantom eyes and wished that he could possess you. 

He pulled your wrist higher up, his attention dropping down to your dripping palm. Slowly, too slowly, he dipped the tip of his pointer finger into the pool that he had created. He lifted his hand up between the both of you before pressing his thumb against your chin, prying your lips open. 

You were too confused to understand what it was that he wanted from you. It wasn’t until the metallic taste of his blood spread over your tongue did you truly understand what he was doing. Your eyes, now the size of saucers, locked on his. For a brief second you thought about biting his finger. Whatever was happening between the two of you was too intense for you to handle, especially with your mental wellbeing hanging in limbo. 

But you let his finger caress your tongue. You even opened your mouth wider for him, moaning when his lips curled up at your sudden obedience. His eyes flickered up to your eyes from your mouth when he heard the sound, a responding groan meeting your ears. Deep and guttural, as though he wanted you to know that he felt it too. He felt all of it. He hooked his finger on your bottom teeth, sliding them against your gums and then. . . 

Then he released your mouth. “Swallow me.” 

And so you did. The thickness of it coated your mouth and tongue, marking you from the inside out. You weren’t sure why you were so willing to do as he told, but there wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t want to please him at that moment. 

It was almost as though he had watched the fight and the fear drain from your body. You stood there, languid and malleable before him. 

It was odd. . . but it was like you could finally breathe for the first time in days. 

“You never ask for permission.” You couldn’t project your voice the way that you wanted to. You had spoken in a barely audible whisper. 

“No,” His voice was low enough to be considered a hum in response. “Never.” 

And as if to prove that as fact, Feyd lowered his lips down onto yours. His grip was still on your stained wrist and you were positive that if he hadn’t been holding you in some way then you might have just floated away. The floor would have swallowed you up whole. . . or that black, black sun. The strength of his bruising hold acted as a tether, tying you to the floor and to him. Your lips tightened, compressing for a split second against the softness of his kiss. It wasn’t as searing as the other ones had been. A part of you reviled this small shred of humanity that he was showing you, the paranoia still biting at the back of your mind. Was he doing this to disarm you? 

But you remembered his blood and his promise. You could feel it beginning to dry on your skin, growing cold and tacky: a reminder. His flesh was yours. 

In that instant you yielded- submitted fully to all of it. You assaulted his mouth with your own, lips melting against his as your free hand moved up to cup the side of his neck, pressing him harder against you. The suddenness of your surrender had him staggering, his hold on your wrist loosening in his shock before he finally let you go, his strong arms wrapping around you so tightly that you feared that you might be crushed into his chest. 

Would you really mind that though? 

You allowed his lips to birth you anew and gave into the deranged desires. If this was what it meant to be mentally insane then. . . you weren’t sure if you wanted to be put back together again. His lips moved against yours, tongue curling into your mouth in such a way that you couldn’t help but wonder what other parts of you he could set ablaze. He owned your mouth, just as he had before when his finger had slipped past your teeth. 

No doubt he could taste the metallic film that still clung to your tongue, and you let him. Your newly freed hand slid along the expanse of his chest, and without needing to see it you knew that you were leaving your own marks. Hands, fingers, blood- it was everywhere. 

No matter how close he pressed himself against you it still didn’t feel enough. 

Feyd was kissing you with a fervent need- not to own you, but as if he truly couldn’t get enough. He pressed his lips against yours as though he could absorb you into his body. It would be safer there, you thought. If he wanted to breathe you in then you would damn well let him. 

He broke the kiss so that he could look at you, and after he had gotten his fill he pressed his lips against yours in small pecks. Once, twice, and then his eyes opened once again. The hunger in his eyes was still there, of course, but there was a strange sense of longing there too. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but before he could open his mouth you were stepping up on your toes, pressing your lips against his neck. 

You thought of every demented thing you’d wanted to do to him since you’d been stuck on this forsaken planet. At one point you’d wanted to gut him, then silence him and now. . . now you wanted him so badly that your hands shook as they began to pull at the waistband of his pants. The sound he let out was so loud that you were positive that someone had to have heard it. The moan was all beast, no hint of man to be found. 

“You’re covered in it,” He panted out, tilting his head to the side so that you could continue biting and licking at his pale neck. His skin tasted of the spicy, herbal soap he had used in the shower. You wanted more of him. All of him, in fact. “On our wedding night I’ll give you even more of it.” He promised, his hands moving to braid themselves into your hair. The tips of his fingers massage your scalp roughly, and when you bite down a little too hard on his soft skin you can hear a few strands of your hair popping as they are ripped from the roots. 

“I’ll mark every inch of your body,” He removed your hand from the waistband of his pants, and right when you were about to cry out a complaint he pressed your palm against his straining front. He allowed you to run your fingers along every inch of him, shuddering at the feel of your fingers- so tiny- brushing against him. “Make you drink it even.”

Those words tumbling from his lips sounded, in a fucked up way, as though he was worshipping you. The dam had burst wide open and the two of you could do nothing to keep Feyd from uttering every cursed, demented thought he’d ever had about you. 

“I’ll coat myself in it. My blood and cum belong in and on every inch of you.” 

You were finally touching him. Not because he was forcing it out of you but because you chose to. Again and again, as your fingers continued their exploration, you reminded yourself that this was what you wanted. 

More, more, more. 

“Na-Baron?” No one, not once over the days that you’d spent in Feyd’s quarters, had ever dared to knock on the door. Usually they’d place your meals just outside of it around the same time each day, not wanting to be sliced to ribbons after everything that had happened. The sound of the foreign voice cooled your hot blood so quickly that you swore that you could hear it fizzing in your ears, the heat being replaced by white, cold terror. 

For a few elongated moments Feyd stared at you, his breathing labored. You watched as he sucked in a singular breath, caging it in his lungs for a beat before blowing it out slowly. One step at a time he detached himself from you, looking pained all the while. You silently cursed whoever it was that had interrupted the both of you. 

This had been the first thing that you had, quite possibly, ever done for yourself. Every day, even back on Caladan, had been spent training with Paul. Since the day of your birth you had known that you would be shipped off, married to someone that you knew very little about. Every day had become a waiting game, filled with meaningless marriage training. 

This moment had been just for you. You had wanted him more than anything, and if not for the interruption then you would have more than willingly given yourself to him completely. It was all so complex, and you weren’t sure of the meaning behind it all. Had you come to care for Feyd or was it just the release that you were searching for? Either way, you had wanted it. Whatever it meant. 

“What is it?” 

You tried to drown out the voices as you slowly moved away from the sitting area and further into the room, realizing now that the two of you probably looked deranged. As you stared down at your clothes you finally noticed that this was all. . . so gruesome. With a small gasp you began pawing at your dress, noticing the sheer amount of blood that had been spilled. How deeply had he cut himself? Was he still bleeding, even now? 

You hurried to the bathroom, turning the sink on so that you could wash your hands. 

This place felt as though it had already stolen years of your life from you, when in actuality it couldn’t be more than two weeks. Still, you’d lived every hour on edge and in constant earth shattering terror. For the first time in those three hundred and thirty-six hours you didn’t feel alone. In fact. . . you felt good, if anything. A ten ton weight had been lifted from your chest. 

You didn’t just have a protector. An Atreides had somehow managed to find themselves a damned champion. 

“Our presence is needed at the arena,” Feyd started, crowding the door frame as you continued to scrub at your fingers. One of his hands reached out, as if to stop you, but he let it fall back at his side before his fingers could grip yours. “We need to make an appearance.” 

Yes, you should have expected that. Everyone must want to see the sacrificial lamb that had been led to the slaughter.

The black sun had set a few hours ago, and the light of the moon was blinding as you were led down a long black corridor and up a steep, obsidian staircase. The new color palette of your life: black, grey and white- it blinded you now as you gripped Feyd’s steady hand. The balcony had a clear view of the entire arena, the white sand below catching the rays of the full moon that hung high, suspended in the air above you. 

A few cloaked figures were seated, their backs towards you as they stared out at the scene unfolding before them. A loud voice that you didn’t recognize was narrating the carnage, the loud screams and voices of the crowd assaulting your ears. The arena itself reminded you of the training grounds that you and Feyd had spent much of your time over the last two weeks. It was so strange to think that it had been two full weeks since the day that you had threatened the Harkonnen man out on that sandy terrain, poised and ready to kill him. Back then you had wanted to spill his blood, especially if it had meant that you could find your way back to your family. 

It had been a fool's errand: husband or not, you were never meant to return to the life that you had lived before. 

The black gown that had been prepared for you was uncomfortable and so long that you had to kick your feet out just so that you wouldn’t trip on the train. You felt ridiculous and missed the breathable fabrics and gossamer of your home planet. As you looked out at the sea of spectators you realized that you blended right in. If you had been wearing a veil to disguise your facial features then you would have been just another Harkonnen, jowls wide and drooling as you stared out at the bloody terrain. Thirsty for carnage and wrath. 

The sun had begun to change you. You were no longer favored by the light. 

The hand clutching yours was a stark reminder of that, as was the way that you clung to him right back. “An hour. Tolerate this for an hour.” He whispered in your ear. 

His lips were still swollen from your kisses. The moment that had been shared between you had been far from gentle, but it had been the closest thing to loving that you’d ever experienced. You didn’t startle as he reassuringly squeezed your hand. 

The Bene Gesserit’s eventual arrival had been expected. You knew, eventually, someone from the Order would come and check on how the marriage ceremony was proceeding. You doubted that they’d been made aware of the recent threats. 

It was doubtful that they’d even care.

You’d recognized the old, hateful hag even with her veil on, the downward tilt of her lips visible even from a hazy distance. You squint your eyes against the light, bowing your head ever so slightly as you began to take the empty seat beside her. Imperceptibly Feyd reached out, moving around you so that he could take the seat next to the familiar woman and his uncle. It was a kindness that you happily accepted. 

“Mother.” It was a practiced greeting, but she nodded her head in your direction, her eyes still cast towards the arena. 

It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust fully to the light, the white bodies in the sand finally actualizing themselves as your pupils dilated. A man was on his knees, crawling towards a discarded dagger. The white landscape beneath him had been dyed with his blood. 

It was nothing you hadn’t seen before. You tried to rationalize that fact with yourself once you discerned that one of his legs had been completely severed at the knee. Still, as he inched forward, digging himself even further into the sand beneath him, you couldn’t help the bile that began crawling its way up your throat. 

“The gladiators know how special tonight is for the two of you,” Vladimir said with a sneer, his eyes catching on your face. “They were instructed to make it as flashy as possible.” 

You had to turn your head, the disgust darkening your eyes as you cast down your gaze. 

“You indulge me too much, uncle.” Feyd’s lips tilted up with a sick grin, one that you recognized from days past. 

The warrior- if you could even call him that- gave a final cry as he finally reached his blade. The poor bastard wasn’t even given enough time to grip the hilt in his bloody palm before the gladiator struck down with his own kindjal. 

It sliced through the air in a wide ark, cutting through shadows, cloth and bone as it hit its mark. The sound drained from the surrounding stands as the Harkonnens stood up on their feet. Their pale, terrifying faces gaping as they took in the carnage. 

Your chest heaved before you could stop yourself as you watched the warrior’s decapitated head roll across the ground, his eyes wide and lifeless. You were too caught up in the moment to even realize that Feyd had gripped the bell-sleeve of your dress, yanking you back down as you began to stand up. 

Escape. You needed to escape. 

“Your promised one seems eager to get up close.” The baron chuckled in his seat, having seen your reaction. 

“Our customs are unfamiliar to her. She will learn in time.” Feyd’s excuses for your strange behavior were becoming second nature to him now. 

“Perhaps you are eager to show her how skilled you are,” The Baron leaned forward ever so slightly so that he could meet your gaze, his chair creaking beneath his weight. “Your future husband is the most skilled gladiator that Giedi Prime has ever bore witness to. No one in this entire arena could ever match his might.” 

“I feel incredibly lucky.” And you did. Knowing that he was planning to help you fight your battles settled your stomach, but you couldn’t help but imagine yourself in that poor warrior’s place. The Harkonnens were no doubt wishing that you would get pushed onto that cold sand so that your colored blood could paint their arena walls. 

As if on cue the animals began to scream, raising their palms up to the sky as the gladiator gripped the severed head by its hair. Slowly he turned, letting every woman, man and child get a good view of the brutality of it. Finally he turned to you, his black eyes seemingly glaring straight through you. 

“An offering, lady Atreides.” He called out over the screams. 

Beside you Feyd tensed, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he bared his teeth at the other male. The Baron laughed loudly, clapping his hands together in gleeful approval. “It seems Feyd is eager to give you an offering of his own. Why don’t you volunteer yourself to fight?” 

The man beside you seemed tempted to take his uncle up on that offer. Whatever the other male had just done must have been a sign of disrespect. 

“He’s goading me,” Feyd seemed to read your mind, his blue eyes narrowed on the other pale creature below. “He’s presenting himself to you.” 

The warrior continued to grin up at the balcony, his eyes promising bloodshed. 

You blinked, stomach churning as you slowly turned to look at the reverend mother. She kept her eyes on the warrior, feigning interest. She must have seen much destruction in her long life because the old crow didn’t even bat an eye at the scene before her. She looked just as disinterested as she had that very first night you had made her acquaintance. Being stranded here with the Baron and reverend mother was a terrifying thought, but you didn’t dare beg Feyd to stay with you. The last thing you needed to do was show weakness to either one of them. 

So you sucked in a small breath and straightened your shoulders, looking expectantly at the both of them. You waited for the Baron to stand up and declare that his nephew would be dueling the unruly gladiator. No doubt you’d be cornered the second that he stepped away from the balcony. Not once had you been left alone with the Baron, and you silently wondered if his hatred would slip into his speech the second his “adoring” family member was out of earshot. 

“I wish to be married before I present her with an offering of flesh.” Feyd said through clenched teeth, his eyes still on the gladiator. The two of them seemed to be having a standoff with their eyes, communicating something that you couldn’t see nor understand. 

“The both of you already smell heavily of bloodletting. It seems to me that the two of you are already bound.” The Baron seemed smug in his observation, especially when you quickly whirled to face him with wide eyes. 

Smell? He could. . . smell Feyd’s blood on you? 

Feyd’s lips tilted up into a small, cocky smile as he turned to face his uncle. “You wanted us to try for offspring as soon as possible. We have been quite busy these last few days.” He placed his hand in yours as he spoke. 

One finger curled over the other inside of your palm. A lie. 

“I am pleased to hear so.” And the Baron, despite his apparent hatred of you, did seem pleased. He didn’t actually want Atreides-Harkonnen children running around. 

No, he was pleased that his nephew had deflowered and sullied you. 

“There will be another time for me to properly show my wife what I am capable of. I will offer her that man’s head as a wedding gift.” Feyd promised, and with the look on his face you were sure that he would deliver it to you on a silver platter. 

Your grip on sanity must have slipped. The black sun must have finally tainted your heart because heavens, with the new knowledge that the Harkonnens possessed an unnatural sense of smell, you had to press your thighs together in the hopes that no one around you could smell your arousal. 

“Yes,” The Baron hummed pridefully, his lips turning up into a secretive smile. “I have a feeling that our lady Atreides will become well acquainted with the arena in due time.”

ೃ࿔ savage bonds taglist:

@elf-punk @shitfuckeryclownverse @mydarlingelvis @heartarianagran @ohdearmaggie @chalametism @killingboredom @obsessedvibee @avidreader73 @softboo @tedcruzumakii @luminnara @narniansmagic @torchbearerkyle @ziggy-stardust-world @tian-monique @adoxra @zz-snow-zz @tiredsleepyhead @icontrolthespice @itsparksjoyhuh @verveta345 @shegatsby @zae5 @ertepla @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @lotus-888 @meetmeatyourworst @moonchild-artemisdaughter @abswifey @flower-frog @auroranodyssey @forgedfromthestars @moony-artemis @juliskopf @moonsoulk @serrendiipty @atrxidxs @the-ruler-of-death @mintoblobo @just-pure-trash @randominterwebthings @springholland @so-dramatic1 @ashy-kit @aslutforscarletwitch99 @sofia-013 @gamorxa @ricecakeslove @alexandrainlove @selfishlittlebeing @ceres27

[crunchystarz]

Twisted wonderland Self-aware au

Housewardens x GN!Reader

Cw- obsessive and possessive behavior, isolation all that good yandere stuff (remember none of this behavior is healthy nor do I condone it this is purely for entertainment )

A/n: I wrote this while dying of the flu I am not built for the cold weather release me from my chains

You downloaded the game for fun. As any normal person usually does. What you weren't prepared for was when your game started acting weird.

It started small, your characters dialogue wouldn't line up with the videos you've seen. No big deal perhaps they just got changed during an update.

It got a bit weirder whenever you'd start seeing new sprites you haven't seen anywhere else. You tried to shrug it off as you just managed to get a newer version of the game(somehow).

You swore the characters started to address you more directly but you again tried to ignore it. You just thought your brain was playing tricks on you.

It was only until you realized you left your phone at your apartment. You quickly rushed home to retrieve it just to find a very real house warden in your home.

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

REALIZATION:

When Riddle first suddenly became aware of the fact his existence was nothing but code he was unbelievably out of it. All the conversations he had, his harsh upbringing, everything was just part of his character. Were the feelings of anger, confusion and acceptance even real? He went on a bit of a rampage being harsher than usual but he didn't wish to shatter the reality for everyone else (he'd also sound more like a mad hatter If he tried to explain the fact they were just in a game) So no one knew why for the next month Riddle was more on edge than usual.

He came to accept the fact his life was nothing but a path set for him. He instead started to focus on you(or should I say yuu)

He soon realized that the ramshackle perfect was nothing but a hollow shell. No notable personality or backstory. But he soon managed to be aware of your experience. Glitches allowed him to hear snippets of your voice and how you truly felt. He was your favorite and he wanted it to stay that way.

He'd make sure he was always on your home screen. He'd even get risky and start talking to you directly. He'd listen to you ramble as you played the game. His face would flush red not out of anger but embarrassment when you'd change his outfits or get excited when you realized he'd gotten a new card.

He wished there wasn't a screen keeping you away from each other...

BREAKING CODE:

(I like to think this would be similar to an overblot In a way and enough emotion could cause them to lose themselves and eventually overwrite their code)

Riddle was over the moon. He was really in your room. Sevens he never thought a day would come where he'd be standing in your space. It was so you...

It felt weird, in a space that wasn't just there for scenes. It was actually lived in.

When he sees you he feels as if he succeeded in his life's purpose. You're confused and he can see that. He tries to explain to you how he didn't even know how he had gotten where he was.

You let him stay in your apartment because you couldn't really let him out in a world he knows nothing about. You're too kind he says.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Riddle takes care of most of the household chores. While you're gone, he keeps himself busy by tidying up, reading, or researching ways to improve the home environment. As well as constantly making rules for you to follow. He's so used to rules being set in place, it's what he was programmed to do so In the beginning you let it slide.

However he becomes controlling, trying to regulate every aspect of your life to “protect” you. He insists on setting the rules for "safety" and gets visibly distressed if you don't follow them.

Constantly checks if the you're eating properly or following a “schedule” he created for you both. If you don't he'll sometimes scold you harshly like he would in game. He'll apologize later in fear of upsetting you, he just wants you to be safe.

Becomes passive-aggressive if you end up spending too much time with others, interpreting it as rebellion. All he's trying to do is set you on the right path , can't you see that?

-"It’s for your own good [Name],Without guidance, this world will overwhelm you. Let me take care of you."

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

REALIZATION:

When Leona realizes he's in a video game he's surprisingly the calmest. He's upset and disorientated but he doesn't cause a big scene or let it be known he's losing his mind. He's used to concealing how he feels from others; it's in his codeHe's more laid back after this fact. No matter what he did he'd never be able to change his fate, because it was already set for him he had no control over it. So why did it matter what he did?

When you caught his attention the beast man was obsessed with proving himself to you. To him you were the only person who saw him for him. Who understood him. He was your favorite.

He'd never been anyone's number one anything before and the fact you choose him he wasn't going to let anything take that away from him.

The screen was just another obstacle he'll overcome to get what he wants.

BREAKING CODE:

Leona was really in your room...your room. He felt overcome with joy. Genuine joy, something he'd...never felt. Everything he felt up until then was just what the developers wanted him to feel.

Needs to say you were more than confused when you saw a lion hybrid snuggled up in your bed when you came home.

After getting an explanation you offered to let him stay in your apartment; if you didn't you were more than sure he'd be taken for government testing or something. Too bad you now needed a new phone.

DAY TO DAY LIFE :

Leona is still a lion at heart, he frequently loiters around you, draping himself over your furniture or bed like a lion staking a claim.He’s territorial and quick to anger if someone else tries to get too close to you. Despite his gruffness, he seeks constant reassurance that the you won’t leave him.

He's possessive and hates whenever you leave and doesn’t hide his irritation. He often tries to convince you to skip work/school, suggesting you should spend the day relaxing with him instead. (Sometimes he'll go out with you and will send looks to anyone who looks at you too long)

you're just happy everyone thinks that his animal features are crazy prosthetic since he refuses to hide them

When you come home, Leona monopolizes your time, insisting on napping together and getting all your attention.

He'd dislike the smell of other people on you when you come home and will drag you to bed for cuddles. None of these humans deserve your attention, he worked so hard for it not them .The thought angers him.

- "You're mine, I can protect you—provide for you —love you, you don't need anyone else but me those humans can't do what I can"

AZUL ASHHENGROTTO

REALIZATION:

Azul understandably does not take the life altering realization that he's not actually real well. His usually kept together appearance started to slip. He was all over the place. How could he not? This left Floyd and Jade completely confused why their boss was so out of it. It wasn't like him. He couldn't tell anyone else about this, not that they'd believe him anyway.

His interest in you starts as a mix of fascination and suspicion. He’s drawn to your influence but wary of your intentions. It became an obsession .

He saw you as the only real thing in his "life", Azul was your favorite out of all the characters, you picked him. He'd always make sure he looked right on your home screen (it wouldn't matter anyway since his sprite would always look the same)

You became the only thing he could think about, he'd have you no matter how much it took

BREAKING CODE:

Azul at first didn't think him being in your room was real. He thought it was a dream. When it finally set in that it wasn't just him losing his mind he was more than just happy.

He was in his darlings room. Everything felt so perfect. But not as perfect when he saw you for the first time. You were more than confused to see him(now in your living room) looking around.

After explaining the situation you let him stay with you in your apartment. You had no other choice where else would he go? It wouldn't be so bad to have extra help around anyway.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Much like Riddle , Azul takes care of most of the daily tasks. He offers to assist you with your tasks, whether it’s by organizing your work schedule or helping with assignments. However, he might feel a little hurt if you seem too busy for him. Pay attention to him please!

Don't forget that this is a sly sly man. Azul becomes emotionally manipulative, weaving situations that ensure you stays reliant on him. He uses your gratitude and trust to justify his control, often veiling his obsession with charm and just him being a "gentleman".

He'll shower you in gifts and constantly praise you on everything. He'll try and offer you deals just to make sure you have ties with him.

He'll text you at work with encouraging needy messages. He's always in your corner so just rely on him okay? You don't need anyone else.

- "You’d be lost without me. Everything I do is for you. Just let me take care of all your work."

Kalim Al-Asim

REALIZATION:

Kalim was in denial for the longest time about the realization that he was in a program. He couldn't wrap his head around it. He didn't want to bother Jamil more than he already did especially not with something this big. It was hard to not say anything while his mind was going crazy with thoughts as he tried to pretend nothing was wrong.

When he realized yuu wasn't just another side character and in fact the player he became obsessed with knowing more. He'd get so excited whenever the game would glitch and he could hear your voice and you talking as you played around on the home screen.

It made him so happy; Kalim was your favorite character. Others would wonder why he'd be more bubbly than usual whenever he'd hear you compliment him on his newest card. He wanted all your attention onto him.

He'd make your every wish come true. This screen wouldn't stop that.

BREAKING CODE :

Oh wow he was really in your room. It was way smaller than he expected but that didn't matter. It was your room so it made it much better. He doesn't know what he did to deserve this. He was basically bouncing off the walls; touching everything.

When you walked into your room you didn't have time to react before Kalim was pulling you a crushing hug causing you to yelp. He apologized a bit flustered.

After explaining (he could barely keep himself together) you allowed him to stay. He was so sweet how could you let him out into the world?

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Kalim insists on accompanying you everywhere. Wherever you go Kalim is clinging to you. Your neighbors have all taken a liking to him so him being with you isn't so bad.

He isn't good with chores but he tries his best to clean and tidy when you're gone. He tries to cook but has burnt it multiple times so you tell him not to. He buys you gifts you don't even need all the time. He just wants to spoil you.

Kalim’s obsession is rooted in his desire to make you happy at all costs. However, his constant need to please you and keep you close becomes overwhelming, and suffocating. If you tell him this he'll make you feel bad, that he just loves you so much and wants to take care of you; you often cave.

When you return from work or school, Kalim greets you with hugs and insists on spending the rest of the evening together, often talking about what he did while you were gone.

-" [Name]! I missed you sooo much, you should let me go with you to work, you don't even need work I could make all of your wishes come true"

VIL SCHONHEIT

REALIZATION:

Vil did not take it well... He was absolutely losing his mind. His beauty was nothing but pixels. Was everything he worked for was fake? Everything he knew was just controlled by someone else. It was so frustrating. He ended up locking himself away until he could accept the truth.

When he realized yuu was the player he was...angry. However that anger subsided after he started to know you for you. Vil was...your favorite. It boosted his ego more than anything.

He wanted to be in the spotlight at all times. He craved your attention. It was like he became addicted to your praise. He'd smile whenever you'd call him pretty whenever you looked at a card of his.

He wanted to be perfect for you. He'd show you how perfect he could be, you'd see. He just needed to get rid of the screen.

BREAKING CODE:

Vil stood in the middle of your room. Everything was too perfect to touch. He took it all in. everything felt just...right.

He didn't even calculate how he got in your room but he didn't care. He was in your world and sevens he'd never felt better.

When you walked into him looking at himself in your mirror (taking in how he was an actual real person) . You were so confused why this gorgeous man was in your room.

After explaining the situation you agreed to let him stay with you; if you didn't you swear he'd get kidnapped or something to become a big model. It wouldn't be bad to have a pretty face to look at when you got home.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Vil insists on controlling your wardrobe and grooming, often brushing aside whatever protests you have. He discourages you from associating with “lesser” individuals, claiming they tarnish the your image.

He knows what's best for you come on, those other people will only be dragging you down from your true potential. But of course you wouldn't know that he couldn't blame you.

Vil’s obsession honestly manifests in his relentless efforts to “perfect” for you. He'll critique your choices and actions, believing he alone knows what’s best for you. His fixation often leaves you feeling scrutinized and trapped.

He believes you just need him. He'll do everything just as long as he gets praise from you. Tell him he's being a great help won't you?

"You deserve only the best, and I won’t let anyone drag you down—!"

IDIA SHROUD:

REALIZATION:

This is not as exciting as they make it in manga. Idia was having a crisis. Realizing that he was in a video game made him want to hide away even more than he normally would. It didn't matter how hard Ortho tried he just wouldn't budge. He stayed cooped up in his room trying so hard to distract himself from the fact that he was nothing but code just like the ones he's learned to manipulate. Idia is not going to recover from this.

Idia was already wary around yuu but when he realized you were yuu he wanted to know more. He was still too scared to leave his dorm so you didn't see him much other than the homescreen.

He was so taken back when he realized that, he — Idia shroud was your favorite. He'd never been anyone's favorite before. He was just a loser that stayed cooped up in his room all day and you still liked him?

He grew obsessed with that feeling of being seen, he wanted to just use whatever knowledge he had to break past the screen.

BREAKING CODE:

When Idia realized he was actually in your room he damn near fainted. No scratch that he did. He was so overwhelmed. He didn't deserve to be in your room. Oh man how did he even get here? Nevermind that.

He was so incredibly.. happy. He was in the room of the one person who he felt knew him more than anyone. It made him feel bubbly and his hair flashed pink a bit.

He looked for something to do fearing he'd have a panic attack if he thought about this too long. So you ended up finding him tinkering with your computer when you came home. He basically died when he saw you.

After explaining to you what happened, you, now trying to get him to calm down agreed to let him stay. Not that he'd leave anyway he practically already made your bed his sanctuary.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Your room basically became his. He keeps it clean but doesn't really do a lot of the house work other than that.

Idia spends the day gaming, tinkering with gadgets, or monitoring your online activity (just to make sure you're okay, of course!). He reacts the worst to you being away and just does not like it one bit.

Idia struggles with separation anxiety (like a once stray cat)and might try to convince you to work or study from home. If you insist on going out he bombards you with messages . He'll subtly manipulate situations to keep you away from others, convincing you the world is too dangerous.

When you come home, Idia is overly clingy, insisting you spend the rest of the night together and refusing to let you focus on work. He just wants his cuddles and your attention you were out with those normies all day!

-" Can’t you just stay here and binge-watch something with me? It’s way safer—and more fun."

MALLEUS DRACONIA:

When the fae realizes he's nothing but binary code strug together he's more than perplexed. Malleus has dealt with a lot of things in his time but nothing could prepare him for the crushing reality. He's completely disoriented and Sebek nor Silver can figure out why because he won't tell them. He started lacking on work and just overall seemed more spaced out.

He was very quick to put two and two together. Yuu was the player. It was obvious; human without powers manages to get into NRC and some how is involved with almost everything. It wasn't quite hard to figure out.

Malleus idealizes you seeing you as a perfect being. In his eyes, you are kind, compassionate, and the only one who truly understands him. He was your favorite, this confirms you too think you too are meant for each other.

He'd do anything just for you to join him when he takes up the crown, it's just the screen that's not making it possible.

BREAKING CODE:

Once in your room Malleus doesn't look like he cares at all actually but inside he was losing his mind in the most positive way ever.

Nothing was how he imagined. This is how you like your space? Noted. He tidied up your place a bit and sat in the middle of the room as to not mess anything.

When you walked into him just sitting there you were so confused but he just gave you a smile showing off his fangs.

After explaining the situation you let him stay in your apartment; too scared what he'd manage to get into if you didn't.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Malleus makes sure everything is perfect for you at all times. Everything is organized and you never have to worry about anything being out of place.

Like Leona Malleus has animalistic tendencies, him being a fae dragon causes him to be well.. possessive, not wanting anyone else to monopolize your attention. He might grow jealous of your coworkers, friends, or even family, viewing them as a threat to your bond.

He. Is.clingy. worse than Kalim and Idia. He insists on escorting you everywhere, even if it’s unnecessary. People recognized him as "[Name's] horned bodyguard!" Gods you hated it. He tries to insert himself into every aspect of your life, wanting to be by your side constantly.

It took him so long to just be okay with letting you leave on your own. Once you're home he's bombarding you with questions about your day.(Secretly snuggling up to you so you can have his scent again)

-" I could just use magic you know, there's no need—I'm simply a better option for this stuff you can rely on me"

MASTERLIST

[sofiatarot]

Pick a card: How will you meet your future spouse?

In this reading, we’ll uncover how your fated meeting with your future spouse will unfold and gain insight into their thoughts following this significant moment.

TIP JAR - FREE READINGS - PAID READINGS

1->2

3->4

In this reading, we’ll uncover how your fated meeting with your future spouse will unfold and gain insight into their thoughts following this significant moment.

Group 1:

The meeting:

Your meeting will happen when both of you are at a crossroads in life. You might meet in a space that promotes balance and harmony, such as a creative workshop, a community project, or even a social event centered around healing or growth. The energy of the encounter will be magnetic—your confidence and warmth will draw them in, even if they initially come across as reserved or caught up in their responsibilities.

Before this moment, you will have been stepping into your power, reclaiming your individuality after a challenging period. This meeting will feel like divine timing; you’ll notice how easily the conversation flows, as if you’ve known each other for ages. Their guarded nature will soften in your presence, and they will feel a sense of safety they haven’t experienced in a long time.

The environment will have a warm and inviting energy, allowing you both to let your guards down. The two of you might bond over shared interests or a similar perspective on life. There will be an immediate sense of mutual respect and understanding. Even though this meeting will feel serendipitous, it will also feel practical and grounded, as if the universe is setting the foundation for something enduring.

As you part ways, your future spouse will feel a deep sense of relief, as though a burden they’ve carried for years has lifted. They will reflect on how you made them feel understood and valued. They’ll likely begin re-evaluating aspects of their life, such as their priorities and emotional availability, realizing they are ready for something deeper.

Their initial thoughts will center on how you’ve brought clarity to their life. They’ll feel inspired to move forward, letting go of self-doubt and old wounds. This connection will feel like a new chapter—one where they can finally see the possibility of lasting love. Their curiosity about you will grow, and they’ll feel drawn to discover more about who you are.

Astrologically, this encounter may feel influenced by venus in libra or taurus, emphasizing themes of balance and partnership. Saturn could be prominent, showing how this meeting comes after a period of personal growth and maturity. The 7th house (partnerships) or the 5th house (romance and creativity) might play a role in your connection, with jupiter blessing the meeting with luck and expansion.

Group 2:

The meeting:

This encounter will feel like a chaotic collision of energies, happening when both of you are going through periods of change or emotional transition. You might meet in a busy environment, such as an event, a competitive space, or even while traveling. At first, the energy between you may feel conflicted or overwhelming, as though neither of you is entirely ready to open up.

Leading up to this meeting, both of you will have experienced a sense of disconnection—feeling out of alignment with your dreams and unsure of where you’re headed. Yet, this very state of confusion will create the perfect conditions for your paths to cross. When you meet, their energy will feel both intriguing and frustrating. You’ll sense their potential but also notice the walls they’ve built around themselves.

Despite the initial tension, there will be a spark that neither of you can deny. This meeting will challenge you both to confront your fears and rethink your ideas about love and connection. You may feel as though the universe is testing your patience, but the seeds of something significant will be planted.

After the meeting, your future spouse will feel a mix of curiosity and hesitation. They’ll replay the encounter in their mind, trying to make sense of the impact you’ve had on them. Their emotions will be conflicted—they’ll want to pursue the connection but might feel unprepared to handle the depth it requires.

Ultimately, they’ll begin to see the encounter as a wake-up call, pushing them to heal and grow. Your presence will inspire them to break free from self-imposed limitations and step into their power. They’ll come to realize that meeting you was no accident—it was a nudge from the universe toward a path of emotional fulfillment.

Astrologically, this meeting may carry the influence of mars in aries, emphasizing tension and passion, or neptune in pisces, highlighting confusion and spiritual growth. The 12th house (karma and hidden feelings) and the 8th house (transformation) may play significant roles. The energy of uranus could bring sudden changes and unexpected encounters.

Group 3:

The meeting:

Your first meeting will feel quiet and intimate, almost unassuming at first glance. It might take place during an ordinary day, such as at work, in a café, or while running errands. The energy will be grounding yet mysterious, with a subtle magnetism that neither of you can ignore.

Before this moment, both of you will have been working on letting go of past wounds and rediscovering what truly matters. They will be at a stage in their life where they’re reevaluating their priorities and seeking stability. The interaction will feel natural, as though the universe is gently nudging you toward one another.

The conversation will flow effortlessly, with shared values and mutual understanding becoming evident early on. There will be a feeling of familiarity, like two souls who have known each other in a different time or space. Even though the meeting itself might seem mundane, the emotional depth will be undeniable.

After the encounter, your future spouse will feel a mix of hope and vulnerability. They’ll sense that this connection has the potential to transform their life, but they might also wrestle with insecurities about whether they’re ready for such a deep bond. They’ll find themselves thinking about you more than they expected, drawn to the sense of calm and clarity you bring.

This meeting will mark the beginning of a slow, steady connection built on trust and shared growth. Your presence will inspire them to confront their fears and open up to the possibility of love. Over time, they’ll come to see you as a source of light in their life, someone who pushes them to be their best self.

Astrologically, this encounter may be influenced by the sun in virgo or capricorn, emphasizing practicality and stability. The 6th house (daily routines) and the 4th house (home and emotional foundations) might be significant. The influence of pluto could highlight transformation, while jupiter may bless the connection with expansion and abundance.

Group 4:

The meeting:

Your first encounter will feel like a twist of fate, happening during a time when neither of you is actively seeking a connection. You may meet in a setting tied to learning, travel, or personal growth—possibly during a class, workshop, or unexpected detour. The moment will feel like the universe orchestrating a perfect, albeit unconventional, alignment.

Both of you will bring guarded energy to this meeting, but the interaction will challenge your walls. They’ll be drawn to your intellect and the quiet confidence you exude, even if they don’t fully understand the impact you’ve had on them. The encounter might feel fleeting or incomplete, yet it will leave a lasting impression.

This meeting will act as a catalyst for both of you, pushing you to reevaluate what you want from life and love. It will feel like the universe is asking you both to take a leap of faith. Even though the connection might not fully take root right away, the seed of something profound will have been planted.

Afterward, your future spouse will feel introspective and curious. They’ll sense that this meeting was no coincidence and feel drawn to explore the potential of what you’ve sparked together. While their logical mind may try to dismiss it, their heart will whisper that this connection is worth pursuing.

Your presence will inspire them to embrace vulnerability and let go of past fears. Over time, they’ll recognize you as someone who challenges them to grow while offering a sense of stability they’ve never known. The connection will feel like a journey of discovery, both individually and together.

Astrologically, this meeting may be influenced by mercury in gemini, emphasizing curiosity and communication, or jupiter in sagittarius, highlighting serendipity and growth. The 9th house (higher learning) and the 11th house (friendships and unexpected connections) might play key roles. The influence of the moon could highlight intuition, while venus adds an undercurrent of attraction and harmony.

xoxo💗

[sevsgiirl]

— sevika reassuring her anxious partner

synopsis: when you get into an argument with sevika, your anxiety gets the best of you. luckily, she knows how to get rid of your doubts.

note: this is my first time posting my hcs of sevika because I usually post long fics, but after seeing so many tiktoks of people mischaracterizing sevika recently saying she’d be the type to cheat after an argument (she would never) I just had to write this because I am not letting anybody smear my wife’s good name.

𖥔 sevika isn’t necessarily argumentative, but she is very stubborn. she doesn’t like picking fights with you, if she could avoid them as much as possible she would.

𖥔 however, she always feels the need to have the last word, and that riles you up.

𖥔 she never raises her voice at you and make it seem like she’s pissed, but her frustrations seep through.

𖥔 and she knows if the situation further escalates she’ll say something she’ll regret, so she’ll force herself to take a step back, look at you and say “we’re not doing this. I’m not in the right head space right now and clearly you aren’t too.”

𖥔 usually she’d want to fix the issue right away because she doesn’t like prolonging a problem when she knows simple communication could fix it.

𖥔 but when she knows it’ll take the whole day for the problem to be resolved, she’ll create some distance between you two so she can have a clearer mind before bringing up the issue again, and without any bias.

𖥔 however, when she tells you that she needs some time away from you for a bit, your anxiety levels skyrocket. you start scrambling for a way to make her stay and fix the situation but she just sees it as you wanting to argue again, so she shakes her head and goes for the door.

𖥔 “not now. I’m not angry but just give me some time.” she tells you before walking out the door and leaving you in your apartment alone, already feeling bad that the argument went too far.

𖥔 as a way to compose herself she’ll head over to the last drop to have a drink and play some cards, and people at the table would notice her brooding demeanor and ask if there’s trouble in paradise.

𖥔 she won’t answer, she doesn’t like taking advice from people especially when it comes to her relationship. she doesn’t like airing out her business, but people will chime in either way.

𖥔 telling her that as long as the love is still there, there’s nothing that either of you can’t overcome together. again, she stays silent but keeps it in mind.

𖥔 meanwhile, you’re back at home. it’s been a few hours and sevika still hasn’t returned and it’s getting really late.

𖥔 you start assuming the worst case scenarios. pacing back and forth as you wonder if she’s gotten tired of you already, and it doesn’t help when her past at the gardens come to mind.

𖥔 so your mind pivots to that, as bad as it sounds, your chest suddenly feeling heavy as the ugliest scenarios of her confiding in another woman’s arms plague your mind and you immediately feel tears forming in your eyes.

𖥔 you know she would never, but you always feared the worst. you’ve opened up to sevika about your trust issues and she always listened intently. her loyalty and devotion are her most notable traits, and you’d never doubt her. but still, during your darkest moments you can’t help but let those ugly thoughts win.

𖥔 as you imagine her seeking escapism in another woman’s body, you thought maybe if you had just shut up she wouldn’t go out doing god knows what so she wouldn’t be trapped in the same space as you.

𖥔 meanwhile, sevika is trying her best to walk in a straight line as she heads back home from the bar, mentally cursing herself for drinking too much because now, how else is she going to have a conversation about your argument earlier if she could barely form a coherent thought?

𖥔 it’s almost midnight by the time you hear sevika’s spare keys unlocking your door as she stumbles in, groaning as you step inside the living room and watch her walk in.

𖥔 “where were you?” you ask, your voice shaking but sevika didn’t pick up on your anxious state just yet.

𖥔 so she raises a hand to signal for you to give her a moment, but you being paranoid, take it a sign of her being annoyed with you.

𖥔 “I’ve had too much to drink, just give-“

𖥔 she stops dead in her tracks when she hears you sniffling, and it’s like all the liquor in her system got evaporated as she looks up and notices your watery eyes, fidgeting with your fingers and she immediately takes a step forward.

𖥔 “hey, what’s wrong-“

𖥔 “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to blow things out of proportion and I understand if you’re fed up with my shit, but sev, j-just…”

𖥔 her eyebrows furrow as you look down at your feet “hey, remember what I said earlier? I’m not mad. I just needed some space to clear my head.”

𖥔 your glossy eyes pierce through her grey ones as you gulp “I-I thought you got tired of me a-and…”

𖥔 she looks at you and encourages you to finish, but as you think about it you can’t help but feel embarrassed “it’s stupid.”

𖥔 “sweetheart, just tell me-“

𖥔 “I thought you went to the gardens.”

𖥔 all thought process quickly stopped working as she stares at you, dumbfounded. feeling her heart twist at the thought of you losing faith in her that you’d assume she’d go and sleep with another woman just because she was angry at you.

𖥔 she wasn’t even angry at you. she could never be angry. she was frustrated with the situation but she’d never have it in her to be mad at you and blame you for anything.

𖥔 she takes a step closer and extends her hand to palm your cheek, calloused but warm.

𖥔 “sweetheart, you know I’d never do that. ever.” she put both of her hands on your face and fixed you with a hard gaze “no matter whatever bullshit we go through, don’t ever think I’d stoop as low as betraying you like that. I wouldn’t even imagine doing that to you.”

𖥔 she swallows the lump in her throat. she wasn’t the type to get emotional but seeing your big doe eyes look at her, all pitiful and devastated, made her heart break. so with a sigh she pulls you against her chest and tightens her arms around you, running her fingers down your hair as she rest her chin on top of your head.

𖥔 “I love you. so fucking much. you could put me in a room with a thousand women and I’d still crawl my way out of there to get to you. nothing else matters. just you. you know that, right?”

𖥔 you sniff, nodding as you let out a shaky breath “I know and I’m sorry. I just got a b-bit paranoid.”

𖥔 she shook her head “it’s okay, it’s not your fault. I’m not going to be upset when I should’ve stayed here with you and worked things out. I’m sorry for making you go through that, baby.”

𖥔 after a few minutes you finally look up at her and gave her a wobbly smile.

𖥔 “it’s okay,” you nuzzled against her touch and sighed “I love you, sev.”

𖥔 she smiles, thumb caressing your cheek “I love you more.”

[goyardgoyangi]

fwb! oliver aiku who just wants to be yours

It’s a Wednesday night, and you’re sitting on the edge of his bed, your back against the headboard, scrolling through your phone. Oliver’s in the bathroom, the sound of water running as he gets ready to join you.

You hear the bathroom door creak open, and you force yourself not to look up. You already know what he’ll look like—after all, hooking up has become more than just a weekly occurrence. Wet hair, half his shirt off, that mischievous smile playing at his lips.

You’re halfway through tugging your hoodie over your head when he says it.

“You ever think about not seeing other people?”

You stop, fabric caught around your elbows, heart stuttering like a missed step on the stairs.

“What?” you ask, laughing, because that’s the only thing you know how to do around him when things get too real. “Since when do you care about stuff like that?”

Oliver leans back against the pillows, arms folded behind his head like this conversation isn’t threatening to blow everything up. Like he’s just thinking out loud. Like he doesn’t know what this sounds like.

“Dunno,” he says lazily, heterochrome eyes flicking over to you. “Guess it’s just been a while since I hooked up with anyone else.”

You force his hoodie down over your hips, turning to face him. “That’s not what this was supposed to be.”

“I know.”

“And you’re the one who made it clear—no strings. No drama.”

“I know,” he repeats, quieter.

There’s a long pause. You busy yourself with finding your socks on the floor, because looking at him feels dangerous right now. You’re already too comfortable in his bed, too used to the smell of his body wash lingering on your skin. Too used to waking up tangled in sheets that aren’t yours.

Oliver Aiku—confident, a heartbreaker, and reckless—is exactly the type of guy you don’t fall for.

You met at a party, not a meet-cute. You slept together before you even exchanged last names. And somehow, that turned into “you up?” texts, shared post-practice smoothies, him memorizing how you take your coffee. All under the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t anything more than convenient. Comfortable. Fun.

“Look, I’m not trying to ruin anything,” he says after a beat, voice a little more cautious now. “Just thought I’d be honest.”

Honest. Funny. Honesty from a guy who’s rumored to have ghosted at least three girls on campus in the last semester alone. You’d heard the stories. You weren’t blind.

And you never let yourself forget: you were just the next one in line.

“I don’t want to do this with you,” you say quietly, not looking at him.

“Do what?”

“Pretend like this could be something more than hooking up. That’s not who you are, Aiku.”

He sits up a little straighter at the sound of his last name. You only call him that when you’re annoyed. Or scared. Usually both.

He moves toward you slowly, carefully, like you might bolt. He stops just in front of you, hands at his sides, not touching. Not yet.

“Do you really think I’d spend this much time with someone I didn’t care about?” he asks. “You think I’d go to your research showcase, or memorize your exam schedule so I don’t bug you the night before, or delete my apps months ago—just for a hookup?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. You want to pull away. You want to tell him that this is supposed to be nothing more than a distraction. That this—whatever this is—was never supposed to go beyond the physical.

But you don’t. Instead, you pull your leg back, creating space between the two of you. You want to say something—anything—to make it stop. To push him back into the safe, familiar routine you’ve built.

You turn. “Oliver. You’re you. You flirt with waitresses in front of me.”

“Not lately.”

“You smile at every girl like you already know what she sounds like moaning.”

He winces, like your words sting. Maybe they do. He hides it fast.

“I don’t do that with you.”

Exactly.

That’s the problem.

Because somehow, somewhere along the line, he stopped treating you like a hookup. You didn’t notice it at first. Not when he lingered after sex. Not when he asked about your classes. Not even when he started showing up at your study spots, silently keeping you company until 2 a.m.

You only noticed when it felt harder to leave.

“You’re just bored,” you mutter. “You like the chase.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

He goes quiet. For a moment, you think he’ll shrug it off—go back to playing it cool. That’s what you’ve both been good at.

But instead, he says, “I think about you. A lot.”

You blink.

“When you’re not around,” he continues, quieter now, “I catch myself looking for you. Like, wondering if you're gonna show up to the quad in my stupidly oversized hoodie, or if you’re gonna skip your 10 a.m. like you always do when it rains.”

You bite your lip, guilt already starting to crawl up your spine. But you can’t let him see it. You can’t let him know how much it hurts to even think about letting someone get close to you again.

You shake your head. “But this is what you’ve always done, right? Hook up, move on. That’s how it works,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, like it’s no big deal.

He laughs, but it’s not his usual carefree laugh. It’s bitter. “You think that’s how I want it? That’s what I used to do, yeah. But you—” He stops himself, exhaling slowly. “You’re different.”

You shake your head, trying to mask the tightening in your chest. “I’m not. I’m really not. I’m just a girl you happen to sleep with.”

Oliver’s face falls, and for a moment, you almost feel guilty for pushing him away. But then you remember the countless times you’ve been burned by guys just like him—guys who seem perfect until they don’t care enough to stick around.

You can’t let that happen again.

[myntrose]

12:39 am - the only thing that fills up Caleb's mind is you

Caleb would be the type of guy who wouldn't really care about what was being said of him. Yes, he's charming, charismatic, and very easy on the eyes. But no matter what is being said to or about him- either positively or negatively- he really just doesn't care.

After all, how does any of these things that said about him matter if it isn't being said by you. God, he could be on the other side of the room as you, having a totally different conversation with someone, but the moment you even make a slight mention about him? He's standing a bit taller, paying no remark to whichever irreverent person is in front of him, completely driving his focus onto you and your words and your face and-

yeah, he can't help but only think of you.

Not only is his mind just filled with you, but he also keeps track of things about you as well.

You two would be walking around the grocery store. He's pushing the cart, letting you ramble about your day while picking whatever food you want off the shelves. When in the snack isle, you'd point out ones that you like, some you don't, and some that you have never tried. While this was you filling up empty space with conversation, Caleb is memorizing and making a mental list of everything you've said. The next time you're having a bad day, just know to expect Caleb with the exact snacks that you said you enjoyed, even if you don't remember saying that you did.

He'll hear about the latest fashion trend from his subordinates, or the newest cafe that's opened up, or a game that recently game out. All those things go from one ear out the other. But when you're both lounging at home together and you bring up any of those topics ? He's suddenly buying you that new top you've mentioned, creating reservations to that cafe, or pre-ordering that game so that you can be one of the first people to play it. As long as you're interested in something, Caleb will be interested in it too.

He can be hypocritical about this, the way he prioritizes you above anything and anyone else- including himself. He will remind you to drink water every hour or so, even when he hasn't drank water all day either. He would get on you for not eating your meals on time, despite him not doing so too. And heaven forbid you try to hide an injury from him. Caleb would simultaneously scold you, bandage you up himself, he doesn't trust anyone else touching you, and try not to lose his shit all at the same time- even if he was bleeding to death himself.

It's safe to say that you're the first thing Caleb thinks about when he wakes up, and the last thing his mind lingers on when he finally settles for the night.

Life has been far too cruel to the both of you, but Caleb will do everything in his power to make sure you're happy and well. If he were to describe how he felt towards you, Caleb wouldn't immediately say love. No, that word doesn't encapsulate the expanse of his emotions towards you.

Because to him, his love towards you was a hunger so absolute that calling it affection would be belittling. No, Caleb loved you like a beautiful, necessary ruin.

@myntrose 2025 - do not copy or translate

[astrologydray]

——Juno In The Signs——

Juno in astrology represents commitment, marriage, and long-term partnerships. Juno in the birth chart reveals how you approach serious relationships, the qualities you seek in a lifelong partner, and what you need to feel secure and fulfilled in commitment. Juno’s sign shows the type of energy you bring into partnerships and what kind of partner you are naturally drawn to!

———————————————————————

Juno in Aries ♈️: Juno in Aries in a birth chart indicates a desire for independence, excitement, and passion in committed relationships. You may be drawn to partners who are bold, assertive, and dynamic, and you value relationships that allow you to maintain your individuality. Commitment for you doesn’t mean losing yourself—it means standing side by side with someone equally strong-willed. You might struggle with impulsiveness or wanting things to move quickly, but you also bring a lot of energy and enthusiasm to partnerships. You’re likely to be protective of your loved ones and expect mutual respect. A partner who challenges you, supports your ambitions, and gives you space to be yourself will keep you engaged. Juno in Aries can also indicate a karmic need to develop courage and self-sufficiency within committed bonds, rather than relying too much on others or suppressing your own needs for the sake of the relationship.

Juno In Taurus ♉️: Juno in Taurus represents a deep need for stability, loyalty, and sensual connection in committed relationships. You seek a partnership that provides security—both emotional and material—and you value consistency over fleeting passion. Trust and reliability are essential for you, and you may take your time committing to someone, but once you do, you expect the bond to be solid and enduring. You are likely drawn to partners who are grounded, patient, and financially or emotionally stable. Physical affection, shared pleasures, and a comfortable home life play a big role in your ideal partnership. You may also have a strong appreciation for beauty and material comforts, wanting a relationship that feels both emotionally fulfilling and physically abundant. The challenge with Juno in Taurus can be possessiveness or resistance to change within relationships. There may be a tendency to hold onto a partnership even when it no longer serves you, simply for the sake of stability. However, when balanced, this placement creates long-lasting, devoted unions built on trust and mutual care.

Juno in Gemini ♊️: Juno in Gemini seeks intellectual stimulation, variety, and open communication in committed relationships. You need a partner who keeps your mind engaged and values deep conversations, humor, and curiosity. Commitment for you doesn’t mean routine or stagnation—it means growing together through shared ideas, experiences, and constant learning. You may be drawn to partners who are witty, adaptable, and socially engaging. A relationship that feels like a mental partnership, where you can exchange ideas freely and keep things interesting, is ideal. You likely prefer a dynamic, playful connection rather than something overly rigid or emotionally heavy. With Juno in Gemini there can be restlessness or a tendency to get bored easily. You may struggle with committing if you feel intellectually unfulfilled, or you might crave multiple sources of stimulation, making monogamy feel limiting unless there’s enough variety in the relationship. Honesty, openness, and mutual curiosity are key to making long-term partnerships work with this placement.

Juno in Cancer ♋️: Juno in Cancer looks for a deep emotional connection, security, and nurturing in committed relationships. You crave a partner who feels like home—someone who provides comfort, emotional depth, and a sense of belonging. Commitment for you is about building a family, whether literally or figuratively, and creating a safe, loving environment where you and your partner can grow together. You may be drawn to partners who are caring, protective, and emotionally in tune with you. Expressing love through acts of care—like cooking, comforting, or simply being there during emotional moments—is important to you. A relationship that feels emotionally safe and supportive is essential for long-term happiness. Juno in Cancer can experience emotional dependency, moodiness, or fear of abandonment. You might hold onto relationships out of nostalgia or a deep fear of being alone. Learning to balance emotional security with personal independence will help you create a healthy, lasting commitment.

Juno in Leo ♌️: Juno in Leo desires a committed relationship that is passionate, loyal, and full of admiration. You need a partner who makes you feel special, adored, and valued, and you’re drawn to relationships that have a sense of romance, excitement, and grand gestures. Commitment for you means being with someone who supports your self-expression and makes you feel like the center of their world. You may be attracted to partners who are confident, charismatic, and have a strong presence. You want a love that feels larger than life—one that brings joy, creativity, and fun into your life. Mutual admiration and respect are key to a lasting partnership, as you need to feel appreciated and recognized for your unique qualities. Juno in Leo can have a need for validation, drama, or an expectation of constant excitement in relationships. If you feel ignored or unappreciated, it can lead to frustration or emotional distance. Finding a partner who matches your passion and enthusiasm while also fostering genuine emotional depth and connection.

Juno in Virgo ♍️: Juno in Virgo seeks a committed relationship that is practical, supportive, and built on mutual respect. You value reliability, dedication, and a partner who shows love through acts of service and attention to detail. Commitment for you isn’t about grand gestures—it’s about the little things, like daily acts of care, consistency, and improving each other’s lives. You may be drawn to partners who are intelligent, hardworking, and grounded. A relationship that feels purposeful and productive is ideal, where both of you help each other grow and refine your best qualities. You appreciate a partner who is attentive, responsible, and willing to put in the effort to make the relationship work. Juno in Virgo can have perfectionism in or being overly critical in relationships. You may have high standards and struggle with accepting imperfections, either in yourself or your partner. Learning to embrace the beauty of imperfection and allowing love to flow naturally, rather than trying to “fix” everything, will help you create a fulfilling and lasting commitment.

Juno in Libra ♎️: Juno in Libra seeks balance, harmony, and partnership in committed relationships. You desire a union built on mutual respect, fairness, and deep companionship. A strong sense of equality is essential, and you thrive in a relationship where both partners contribute equally, whether emotionally, intellectually, or practically. You may be drawn to partners who are charming, diplomatic, and socially refined. Romance is important to you, and you appreciate beauty, grace, and thoughtful gestures in love. You likely value strong communication, compromise, and the ability to resolve conflicts peacefully. Aesthetics and a sense of shared style or culture may also play a role in your ideal partnership. The challenge with Juno in Libra is there can be a tendency to prioritize the relationship over your own needs, avoiding conflict to maintain peace. You may also struggle with indecisiveness in love or idealizing a partner to the point of disappointment when reality sets in. True commitment for you comes when you find someone who brings balance—where love is both romantic and real, fair and fulfilling.

Juno in Scorpio ♏️: Juno in Scorpio seeks deep, transformative, and intensely passionate relationships. You crave a commitment that goes beyond the surface—one that is emotionally profound, intimate, and unbreakable. Loyalty, trust, and emotional depth are essential for you, and you are drawn to partnerships that challenge and transform you on a soul level. You may be attracted to partners who are intense, mysterious, and magnetic. Power dynamics, emotional vulnerability, and a strong sense of devotion often play a role in your relationships. You desire a partner who is fully invested in you—someone who won’t shy away from deep emotional connections, even if they are complex or difficult. The challenge with Juno in Scorpio can be possessiveness, jealousy, or a tendency to test your partner’s loyalty. You may struggle with trust or fear betrayal, leading to power struggles or emotional extremes. Learning to balance intensity with trust, and passion with emotional security, will help you create a lasting, deeply fulfilling commitment.

Juno in Sagittarius ♐️: Juno in Sagittarius seeks freedom, adventure, and personal growth in committed relationships. You value a partnership that expands your horizons, whether through travel, philosophy, or shared intellectual pursuits. A sense of excitement and possibility is essential. You don’t want a relationship that feels confining or routine. You may be drawn to partners who are adventurous, open-minded, and have a strong sense of independence. A relationship that allows both partners to explore new ideas, cultures, and experiences together is ideal. Long-distance relationships or connections with people from different backgrounds may also be common with this placement. The challenge with Juno in Sagittarius is There can be a fear of restriction or difficulty settling down. You may struggle with commitment if it feels too limiting, or you might need a partner who understands your need for space and exploration. The key to a lasting relationship is finding someone who shares your enthusiasm for life while also providing enough emotional depth and stability to keep you engaged.

Juno in Capricorn ♑️: Juno in Capricorn seeks stability, commitment, and long-term security in relationships. You value a partnership that is built on trust, responsibility, and mutual goals. Commitment for you isn’t just about love—it’s about building something lasting and meaningful together. You take relationships seriously and prefer a structured, dependable dynamic over fleeting passion. You may be drawn to partners who are mature, ambitious, and disciplined. A strong work ethic, reliability, and emotional resilience are qualities that attract you. You likely want a relationship that feels like a true partnership, where both of you support each other’s ambitions and create a solid foundation for the future. The challenge with Juno in Capricorn can be emotional restraint or prioritizing duty over emotional connection. You may take a practical approach to love, sometimes suppressing vulnerability or viewing relationships through a lens of responsibility rather than pure affection. Learning to balance commitment with emotional warmth will help you create a relationship that is both stable and fulfilling.

Juno in Aquarius ♒️: Juno in Aquarius seeks a relationship that is based on freedom, individuality, and intellectual connection. You need a partnership that allows both you and your partner to maintain your independence while sharing a deep mental bond. Traditional relationship structures may not appeal to you, and you’re likely drawn to unconventional dynamics or partners who challenge societal norms. You may be attracted to people who are unique, progressive, or even a bit eccentric. A strong friendship foundation is essential in your committed relationships, as you thrive when you can truly be yourself without feeling restricted. You value a partner who respects your need for space, personal growth, and innovation in the relationship. Juno in Aquarius can be emotional detached or resisting commitment if it feels too confining. You might prioritize logic over emotions or feel more comfortable with non-traditional relationship styles. Finding someone who shares your vision for a partnership that is both intellectually stimulating and emotionally supportive while allowing space for individuality.

Juno in Pisces ♓️: Juno in Pisces seeks a deeply spiritual, romantic, and almost otherworldly connection in committed relationships. You crave a partnership that feels soulful and transcendent, where love is unconditional and boundaries between you and your partner can feel blurred. Emotional and spiritual bonding is essential, and you may idealize love as something mystical or fated. You may be drawn to partners who are dreamy, artistic, compassionate, or emotionally sensitive. A relationship that feels like a safe, magical escape from the harshness of the world is appealing to you. Acts of kindness, deep emotional understanding, and a sense of divine connection play a huge role in your ideal commitment. The challenge with Juno in Pisces can be illusions, unrealistic expectations, or difficulty seeing a partner for who they truly are. You may be prone to sacrificing too much, attracting partners who need “saving,” or losing yourself in the relationship. Balancing romance with reality, ensuring that love remains both spiritually fulfilling and emotionally healthy.

Ty kind souls for reading 🖤🖤🖤

[cains-daughters]

dating stefan salvatore headcannon (pt 1?)

needed to start my own fanfict page to scratch my own nasty, daydreaming mind because i'm rewatching my fave shows/movies n im obsessed (sorry for typos its 2am n i dont care)

warning: some nsfw shit, minors go away

he's literally the type of guy that your grandma wants you to marry

he feeds the sapiosexual bitches; conversations with him are so fucking intellectually stimulating and while he's talking about a topic/explaining it, you're just staring at him like "this man is so damn smart... I need to ride him" (lol)

has history teacher vibes/has teacher kink vibes sorry but he would def see how turned on you get while he's talking and use it to his advantage

slow mornings with stefan>>>>>>

hearing "good morning baby" as he's stretching/getting closer/putting his arm under your tits to hug you while you're still in bed😵‍💫😵‍💫

he will def love to spend alone time with you, just being in each others solitude while being in the same room reading, writing, drinking coffee or just thinking

you basically give him the opportunity to create more peace and silence in his life in between all crazy shit

because you're not in the supernatural world, he would try so fucking hard to protect you from even knowing of it. will even compel you without thinking at the beginning if you find out and would confess everything if it puts you in a life threatening situation

people will use this to their advantage but somehow he got Damon to be protective over you and you will have both of their protection

Damon can't stand how you complement each other, he feels like having two Stefans giving him advice but he mostly listens to you because you're hot to him lmao

When you first met Damon all he could do is disrespectfully flirt with you just to make Stefan mad

Stefan writing you poems, novels and dedicating journals for you in which he writes love letters (I NEED HIMMM)

he loves slow, deep, intimate makeout sessions. having you on his lap or sitting infront of him while he's holding you with one hand on the lower back and another one on the back of your head guiding you while he grips your hair not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to want him to face fuck you <3

he's dominant, he truly enjoys leading you and not just sexually, he will always be giving you non-sexual dominance like guiding you in crowded spaces, makes decisions for you if you need assistance, will be watching you/making eye contact with you if not together in the same room

he loves having you sit on his feet while your head rests on his lap and he caresses your face and plays with your hair (I NEEEED HIIIMMMMMUGHHHHH) (also this gives me Klaus/Elijah Mikaelson vibes im dead)

im so tired, but i will sleep thinking about our daddy Stefan Salvatore AMEN and i wanna write more shit PEACE

[astrcmoni]

ᯓ☆ star’s midnight caller II ☆ᯓ

MASTERLIST

☆ series masterpost: I II III

pairing: billie eilish x sex-hotline-operator!fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst (if you squint)

synopsis: in the quiet of the night, you answer a call that pulls you into a world of mystery and intrigue. what starts as a simple conversation with a stranger turns into a connection you never expected, leaving you craving more with each ring.

wc: 19.8k…..chat

warnings: top!billie, bottom!reader, phone sex, guided masturbation (r!receiving), dirty talking, fingering(r!receiving), cunnilingus (r!receiving), r! is described to have tattoos and nipple piercings, cussing, let me know if i’ve forgotten anything.

authors note: if you haven’t read pt 1 i suggest you do to understand what’s going on, it’s linked up above. but y’all don’t understand how long this took me. never doing this again (i say as pt 3 brews in my notes app🧍🏾‍♀️) ☆

phone call style story — reader is in bold italics, billie is in blue italics.

————

thursday 2:25 pm

the room is enveloped in near-darkness, save for the faint glow of the projector casting moving shadows on the walls, the images dancing faintly before fading into obscurity. a grainy forensics case study plays on the screen, the narrator’s monotone voice threading through the silence like a low hum. images of crime scenes flicker: shoeprints etched into mud, a blood-streaked knife gleaming under harsh light, diagrams of trajectories drawn with meticulous precision. the air is thick with a strange stillness, broken only by the whir of the projector.

you’re seated at a lecture table in the middle of the room, the glossy surface cool against your forearms. your notebook lies open, pages crisp and lined with the neat curves of your handwriting—cornell notes style, each section meticulously labeled. the ballpoint pen you’ve been gripping bears faint smudges of ink, a quiet testament to earlier focus. your belongings are arranged with an almost obsessive precision, each item carefully placed to avoid encroaching on your classmates’ space.

but your mind drifts, untethered, as if caught on the hook of a voice that lingers in the back of your thoughts. a certain caller has been invading the quiet hours of your nights, her words weaving themselves into the fabric of your mind. the way she asks questions—casual but deliberate, coaxing details about your life with a quiet intensity. she tells you about herself too, the cadence of her voice shifting when she delves into stories or spirals into laughter, the kind that leaves you grinning like a fool. sometimes the conversations are light, like skipping stones across water, but often they sink deeper, pulling you both into rabbit holes of thought. and then there’s the flirting—her tone dipping just enough to leave you wondering if it’s intentional or simply her nature. either way, it stirs something in you, a warmth that unfurls in your chest, spreading through your limbs like the first sip of hot tea on a cold morning.

subconsciously, your fingers begin to wag the pen back and forth. the faint tapping against the notebook creates an uneven rhythm, a soft staccato that fills the empty spaces of your wandering mind. the sound is muted, almost soothing—the thwack of plastic meeting paper, the rustle of shifting pages. it’s erratic, mirroring the restless energy simmering beneath your surface, your thoughts leaping from one idea to the next before circling back to her voice.

your eyes stray from the projection, sweeping across the dimly lit room. your classmates sit scattered like statues in varying states of engagement—some scribbling notes with mechanical precision, others half-hidden behind their desks, their faces lit faintly by the glow of their phones. the soft rustle of pages and the occasional stifled yawn add texture to the quiet. your gaze drifts to professor talis, who sits at her desk, bathed in the soft glow of her computer screen. the light highlights the contours of her smooth, golden-brown skin, her curls tumbling gracefully over her shoulders. her thick glasses perch neatly on her nose, catching the faint reflections of the video playing on the board. the snug burgundy sweater she wears looks like it holds warmth, hugging her frame in a way that seems almost comforting.

your attention slides to the clock hanging on the wall, its face faintly illuminated by the dim light. the second hand trudges forward in slow, deliberate ticks, each movement stretching time until it feels infinite. the soft hum of distant chatter blends with the faint scratching of pencils, a quiet symphony of distraction. the pen in your hand wavers, the motion gradually slowing as your focus narrows. the countdown begins—seconds trickling away like grains of sand slipping through your fingers. freedom feels close but distant, just out of reach, and all you can do is wait.

suddenly, the vibrations of your phone ripple through the table, a faint hum cutting through the quiet. a few heads turn toward you, their eyes glinting with muted curiosity in the dim light. the attention feels sharper than it should, and you arch a brow, your head jerking slightly forward in disbelief.

“what?” you mutter under your breath, the word laced with a sharpness you didn’t bother to hide. your gaze flicks to the nearest onlookers, daring them to explain their sudden fascination. it’s not like you’re in middle school—and honestly, have they never heard a phone vibrate before?

ignoring their stares, you reach for the device, its smooth surface cool against your fingertips. unlocking it, you glance at the screen, squinting slightly as the glow cuts through the dimness. one notification stands out, breaking through the shield of your do not disturb focus mode:

1 new email notification from: Maggie Baird

tapping on the alert, you’re directed to the email, the words staring back at you in bold clarity.

hello,

i hope you’re doing well! i just wanted to send a reminder about our appointment today at 2:45. please let me know if you’re still able to stop in or not.

have a great day!

best regards,

maggie baird—guidance counselor

your fingers move automatically, the soft taps of your typing blending into the faint rustle of papers and distant murmurs.

hi!

yes, i will still be stopping by your office today to finish our discussion. see you then.

as you hit send, a voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, calling your name. your head snaps up, eyes scanning the room for the source. the voice echoes faintly, too soft to pinpoint, and you find yourself searching faces, your gaze darting from one corner to the next. then it happens—an unexpected thud against your cheek, rough paper colliding with your skin. your nose scrunches instinctively as your eyes flutter shut, the crumpled projectile falling to the desk with a dull plop.

turning around, you lock eyes with carson, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. her dark curls frame her face, slightly tousled, her sharp green eyes narrowing as if to say, really?

pushing your chair back, you scoot closer to the table behind you, leaning into the shared space until her whisper reaches your ear. the cool touch of her necklace brushes your skin, a fleeting sensation that sends a shiver down your spine.

“why the fuck was that so hard when i’m right here?” she whisper-shouts, her voice edged with teasing indignation.

“shut up,” you reply, your voice low and tinged with amusement despite yourself. “what do you want?”

carson shakes her head, her grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. the familiarity of the moment settles between you, warm and grounding. memories flicker to life—move-in day, your freshman year, the sterile air of the dorm buzzing with unfamiliarity. you still remember walking into the shared space, anxiety twisting in your stomach, only to find her already there. her stuff was unpacked, books stacked neatly on the desk, posters pinned haphazardly to the walls. she sat cross-legged on her bed, her bright green eyes meeting yours with a warmth that immediately put you at ease.

“hey,” she had said back then, her voice steady and inviting. “welcome home.”

something between you clicked that day, an invisible thread tying you together in a way you never questioned. even now, years later, the bond feels effortless—natural, like it’s always been there. you don’t say it often, maybe not as often as you should, but you’re grateful. her presence is an anchor, a quiet reassurance in a world that so often feels unsteady.

“seriously, though,” she whispers, her grin softening. “you’re so dramatic.”

“you’re the one throwing shit,” you counter, your lips twitching into a smirk.

the moment feels suspended, a pocket of light in the dimness of the room, the weight of everything else temporarily forgotten.

it made sense that she was at school on a basketball scholarship. carson had shown you her highlight reels more times than you could count, pulling them up on her cracked phone screen with that same smug grin she always wore when she knew she’d impressed you. her stats were insane—double-doubles, clutch shots, and a level of confidence that could light up any court she stepped on. she was damn good, and she knew it. but it wasn’t just her skill that kept you showing up to every game—it was the way she played, like every shot, every layup, every defensive steal was a conversation she was having with the universe. it was impossible not to get pulled into her orbit.

since the day you two met, you’d been inseparable. carson’s energy was magnetic, and from the moment she greeted you in that shared dorm room, you knew she’d be the kind of friend you could count on for anything. you became her shadow, and she became yours—whether it was late-night study sessions fueled by vending machine snacks or impromptu karaoke performances in your tiny dorm bathroom. you showed up to every one of her games, screaming your lungs out from the bleachers, your voice blending into the roar of the crowd. it wasn’t long before you decided to join the university’s cheer team, if only to have an excuse to be closer to the action—and closer to her.

but it wasn’t all fun and games. you were there when she tore her ACL sophomore year, the anguish etched across her face as she sat on the bench, the season slipping through her fingers. you’d sat with her in the hospital waiting room, holding her hand while she blinked back tears, offering nothing but your quiet presence. and when things got hard for you—when the weight of school, life, and your own fears felt too heavy—carson was there, cracking jokes, pulling you out of bed, and reminding you that it was okay to stumble as long as you kept going.

“so basically after the banquet tomorrow—”

“—seminar,” you interrupt, the corner of your lips twitching into a smirk.

“whatever, same thing. they both serve free food, do they not?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. “anyways, before you rudely interrupted me, are you going to the thing tomorrow?”

“what thing?” you ask, your curiosity piqued as you shift slightly in your seat.

“do you not check the gc?”

“oh… no. i muted y’all forever ago,” you admit, stifling a laugh and keeping your voice low to avoid disturbing the rest of the class.

“my god,” she groans, dragging the words out like a dramatic sigh. “anyway, they wanna go out tomorrow—to some club or whatever—after we get back from it.”

“um… i’ll let you know,” you say, turning back toward the front of the room. “i’m supposed to meet with my counselor today about some ta thing, so i’m not too sure just yet.”

before she can respond, your attention is drawn back to the projector screen. the narrator’s voice cuts through the background noise, monotone but heavy with implication.

“this pattern of blood spatter indicates a medium-velocity impact, likely from a blunt object. note the size and direction of the droplets.”

the words sink into the stillness of the room, the imagery vivid and clinical. you feel a strange sense of detachment as your eyes flicker between the screen and your notebook. the notes in front of you blur slightly, your thoughts wandering back to carson’s offer, the muted buzz of her words still lingering in your mind.

you pause, underlining a key phrase in your notes, the ink dragging softly against the page. your eyes flick back to the screen, narrowing as you try to absorb the image—splatter lines branching out like veins, chaotic but telling a story if you looked closely enough. you force yourself to focus, blocking out the creeping edges of distraction that threaten to pull you under.

outside, a low rumble of thunder rolls, faint but steady, like a distant warning. someone shifts behind you, their chair letting out a sharp squeak that pierces the silence.

“pause the video.”

the screen freezes on an intricate diagram of blood spatter. the jagged pattern is unsettling in its precision, almost artistic in a morbid way.

professor talis speaks up, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “alright, let’s take a moment. can anyone tell me why this particular pattern rules out a high-velocity impact?”

the room falls into an uneasy quiet, the kind that stretches too long and grows heavy. a few students drop their gazes to their desks, avoiding eye contact like the answer might leap off their notebooks and save them. someone in the back coughs, the sound echoing faintly.

your pen stills in your hand. you know the answer; it’s on the tip of your tongue, almost reflexive. and you know she knows you know it. but the thought of speaking aloud—the weight of all those eyes on you—makes your throat tighten. you drop your gaze to your notebook, hoping the moment passes.

professor talis lets out a soft sigh, laced with disappointment. “no one? fine. look at the size of the droplets. high-velocity impacts—like from a gunshot—create a fine mist. what you’re seeing here is much larger, which tells us—”

“—that it’s medium-velocity, probably from something like a bat or a pipe,” you mutter under your breath, the words escaping before you can stop them.

the professor’s head snaps toward you, her sharp gaze locking onto yours. “exactly. speak up next time, ms. you know this stuff.”

you nod faintly, a flicker of heat rising to your cheeks. you glance at carson, who’s leaning back in her chair with an amused smirk, mouthing the word ‘damn.’ you roll your eyes at her, the corner of your lips twitching.

“alright, class dismissed,” professor talis announces, motioning for someone near the door to flip on the light switch. the room is suddenly bathed in a harsh, sterile glow, and a collective groan ripples through the class as everyone shields their eyes. you squint, blinking repeatedly, trying to adjust as the light burns away the comfortable dimness.

“don’t forget your assignments are due next monday. no excuses,” she continues, her tone firm, no room for negotiation. “you’ll thank me when you’re out there solving cases. also, remember that class is canceled tomorrow, and for those of you attending the seminar, be there no later than 11:00 a.m. sharp. dress in business attire. i’ll email your tickets tonight. have a good rest of your day, and i’ll see some of you tomorrow.”

the room erupts into the familiar chaos of end-of-class. chairs scrape against the floor, bags zip shut, and faint murmurs of conversation fill the space. you shut your notebook with a soft thud, sliding it into your bag. as you reach for your phone, the screen lights up with a notification: final notice: payment overdue.

your stomach twists, a sharp pang cutting through you, but you swipe the notification away quickly, jaw tightening. you pull on your zip-up jacket, the hood going over your head almost instinctively, a flimsy barrier against the world. slinging your bag over your shoulder, you make your way down the lecture stairs, your sneakers scuffing lightly against the floor.

as you push open the heavy door, the rumble of thunder outside greets you again, this time closer, louder, like a promise waiting to unfold.

you push open the heavy door of the building, stepping into the dimly lit hallway, your hood falling as you cross the threshold. the rain that had soaked through your jacket still clings to you, a cold, damp reminder of the storm outside. you glance down, swiping your shoes against the coarse floor mat, the sound scratching faintly against the quiet. the hallways stretch out before you, dim and hushed, the flicker of old fluorescent lights overhead casting a muted glow. the rain outside drums steadily against the roof and windows, the rhythm echoing down the empty corridors like a distant heartbeat.

your sneakers squeak softly with each step as you navigate the polished floors, leaving faint wet prints in your wake. the air smells faintly of books and wood polish, mingling with the crisp, metallic tang of rain. as you approach the office, warm light spills into the hallway from the narrow opening of the door, a soft beacon in the otherwise subdued space.

you pause, lifting your hand to knock lightly against the wood, the sound barely audible over the rain outside.

“come on in!”

the voice is cheerful, familiar. pushing the door open, you step inside.

maggie sits behind her desk, her silver hair pulled into a loose bun, strands escaping to frame her kind, lined face. the desk is cluttered with papers, framed photos, and a half-empty mug of coffee, the scent faintly mingling with the room’s warmth. she looks up as you enter, her smile bright and inviting.

“ah, just the person i wanted to see. please, sit down.”

you ease into the chair across from her, the worn leather creaking slightly under your weight. “thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

she waves a hand dismissively, leaning back in her chair. “you’re fine. i heard you’re looking for a teacher’s assistant position?”

“yeah,” you say, adjusting your bag on your lap. “something flexible, if possible. my schedule’s already packed, but i really need the extra money.”

maggie hums thoughtfully, her fingers tapping lightly on the keyboard as she scrolls through files on her screen. “well, i think i have something that might work. the music department is looking for a t.a. it’s mostly administrative—grading papers, organizing lesson plans. nothing too heavy.”

your brows furrow slightly at the mention of music, a faint unease creeping in. “music? i’m a forensics major.”

maggie lets out a soft laugh, her eyes crinkling. “relax. you don’t need to be a musical prodigy. besides, the professor is great. my daughter, actually.”

you blink, her words catching you off guard. “your…daughter?”

she nods, the pride evident in her smile. “yeah. billie eilish—well, i guess she goes by professor o’connell now. now listen, she’s a bit unconventional, but she’s brilliant and easy to work with. i think you’ll like her.”

your thoughts race, uncertainty tugging at you, but you nod slowly, chewing the inside of your cheek. “well…i mean, if you’re sure…”

“i am,” she says confidently, leaning forward. “trust me, you’ll be fine. she’s expecting you in, oh, about ten minutes.”

maggie scoots her chair back, bending slightly to pull open a drawer. she rummages for a moment before withdrawing a manila folder, sliding it across the desk toward you. “here are all the details of the position. you’ll go over them with billie and make any changes where you see fit. just remember to keep an open mind. and don’t be late—billie’s not a fan of tardiness.”

you take the folder, the paper cool and smooth beneath your fingertips, and slip it into your bag. “thank you so much, maggie.”

“anytime, sweetheart. good luck.”

you offer a small smile before stepping back into the hallway, the warmth of the office fading as the cool air of the corridor greets you.

wandering through the halls, your eyes scan the doors, searching for the name. the polished brass plaque catches your attention, glinting faintly under the dull light: o’connell. the name sits bold and formal in black lettering, an unassuming prelude to whatever waits behind the door.

you hesitate for a moment, fingers brushing over the strap of your bag, before finally reaching for the handle.

you take a deep breath, the cool air of the hallway settling in your lungs before you raise your hand to knock. the sound echoes faintly in the quiet, the weight of anticipation tightening in your chest.

“come in,” her voice calls out, smooth and measured, carrying an edge of curiosity. your stomach flips as you push the door open, stepping inside.

she stands at the front of the room, her back partially turned as she writes on the whiteboard, her movements fluid and precise. a black pen is tucked behind her ear, and a neat stack of sheet music rests on the table beside her. the room feels alive despite its simplicity—soft natural light pours in through tall windows, painting golden streaks across the floor. a piano sits in the far corner, its polished surface reflecting the greenery of several plants scattered throughout the space.

then she looks up.

blue eyes meet yours, bright and clear, framed by gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. her gaze is steady, assessing, but there’s warmth there too—a smile softens her expression as if she’s welcoming you into her orbit. “hello. you must be the new t.a.”

your tongue feels thick in your mouth as you nod, your voice barely audible. “yeah. that’s me.”

it hits you like a tidal wave—her voice. it’s her. you freeze, the realization flooding through you in a dizzying rush. she doesn’t seem to recognize you, doesn’t give even the faintest indication that your paths have crossed before, but that only makes it stranger. surreal, almost, to stand here in front of her.

you’d always wondered what she looked like, your mind crafting endless versions of her face over the past weeks to fill the blank spaces in your memory. but nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for this.

she’s beautiful in a way that words can’t quite hold, like trying to capture sunlight in your hands. her oversized tan button-up hangs loosely on her frame, paired with dark wash jeans that sit low on her hips, the fabric pooling slightly around her ankles. her hair falls in soft, dark brown waves down her back, glinting faintly in the sunlight. she’s both effortless and breathtaking, a contradiction you can’t help but admire.

and her eyes—sharp, yet gentle—trail over you, taking in every detail. they seem to glow, crystalline and piercing, cutting through your casual exterior. suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of your own appearance, of the worn sweater and faded jeans you’d thrown on without a second thought. you feel exposed, wishing you’d cared a little more about how you looked.

“have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk as she moves to sit down. her voice is soft, but there’s a firmness to it that tells you she’s used to being listened to.

you slide into the chair, your movements careful, and pull the folder from your bag. placing it on the desk, you watch as she flips it open, her fingers brushing lightly against the papers. the motion draws your attention to the ink scrawled across the back of her hand—delicate lines of black, faint smudges at the edges, as if she’d been too focused to stop and wash it off.

as she begins to explain your responsibilities, you try to focus on her words, but your eyes betray you. they wander over her face, lingering on her lips. they’re full and soft, a natural pink like the petals of a plumeria flower, and you can’t help but wonder what they might feel like against your own. the thought startles you, heat creeping up your neck.

her voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, pulling you back to reality. “is everything okay?” she asks, her brows knitting together in light concern.

you blink, shaking off the haze. “yeah, sorry about that. can you repeat that?” you force a small, nervous laugh, rubbing your palms against the rough fabric of your jeans before leaning in slightly, hoping to seem more attentive.

she doesn’t answer immediately. instead, she watches you, her fingers idly tracing the edges of the papers in the folder. her head tilts to the side, the movement subtle but thoughtful, her gaze narrowing slightly.

her tongue darts out briefly to wet her bottom lip before she pulls it in, biting gently on the skin as if she’s considering something. the moment feels heavier than it should, the silence stretching thin between you. you shift under her gaze, the weight of it pressing into you, as if she’s trying to read something just beneath the surface.

“what?” your brows knit together as confusion flashes across your face, your eyes darting around the room in search of some unseen answer.

“nothing,” she huffs softly, amusement laced in her tone, though her gaze remains sharp. she leans forward, closing the distance slightly, her arms resting on the desk. her presence is magnetic, drawing you in even as her words send a ripple of unease through your chest. “i’m just wondering… do i know you from somewhere?”

you freeze, the air seeming to still around you. her question hits you like a sudden drop, the ground vanishing beneath your feet. a chill skates down your spine, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. you inhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to collect the fragments of your composure. your voice feels foreign when it finally escapes, a careful balance between indifference and denial.

“no, i don’t think you do. i’m sorry.”

silence unfurls in the space between you, thick and palpable. billie doesn’t move, her blue eyes narrowing slightly as they search yours. there’s a quiet intensity in the way she looks at you, as though she’s trying to piece together a memory just out of reach. her lashes frame her gaze, softening its sharpness, but the weight of it is almost too much to bear.

her eyes shift, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your jaw, the slope of your neck. they linger there for a moment too long, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. then, like a current, her gaze flows down your arm, pausing briefly as if something there caught her attention. her movements are so fluid, so unassuming, you barely register them before she straightens, her focus shifting back to the file in front of her.

“hm… well then,” she murmurs, her tone light but her expression unreadable. she leans back in her chair, the black leather creaking softly beneath her. a beat passes, the air taut with unspoken tension, before she continues. “does every monday, wednesday, and friday at five pm work for you?”

you nod quickly, your movements stiff and mechanical, and she doesn’t press further.

she begins listing your responsibilities, her voice smooth and measured as she explains your duties. you force yourself to focus on her words, but it’s a losing battle. your responses are clipped, your gaze fixed firmly on the desk in front of you. if you keep it brief, keep it distant, maybe she won’t look too closely. maybe she won’t connect the threads dangling between you.

by the time the meeting wraps up, your nerves are frayed, each passing second an exercise in restraint. billie leans forward again, extending a hand across the desk. “looking forward to working with you.”

for a moment, you just stare at her hand, your heart pounding in your ears. then, slowly, you reach out, your fingers meeting hers. her hand is warm, her skin smooth but not without the rough edges of callouses. the contrast between your hands strikes you—her strength tempered by an understated softness, your own fingers trembling slightly as you fight to maintain control.

her thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles, whether intentional or not, and the contact sends a jolt through you. goosebumps rise along her arm where your nails graze her skin, the faint gleam of your top coat catching the light.

“thank you,” you mumble, your voice barely audible. you pull your hand back quickly, tucking it close to your side like it might betray you.

with a hurried goodbye, you slip out of the room, your chest tight and your thoughts in chaos. the hallway feels too quiet, the walls pressing in as you all but sprint away. each step echoes, a reminder of what you’ve left behind and the weight of what you can’t seem to outrun.

back in your apartment, billie’s voice lingers like a song you can’t get out of your head, looping endlessly in your mind. you toss your bag onto the couch and make your way to the bathroom, craving the solitude and stillness that only a hot shower can bring.

you tie your hair back loosely, fingers trembling slightly as you strip off your clothes. stepping into the steam, the water cascades over your skin, scalding but grounding, a sharp contrast to the chaos in your chest. the scent of your lavender body wash fills the air, soft and calming, like a fleeting embrace in the midst of a storm. you close your eyes and focus on the sound of the droplets hitting the tiles, willing the tension in your shoulders to dissolve, willing your nerves to spiral down the drain along with the suds.

after a few long moments, you twist the knob, and the water stops, leaving behind silence and steam. wrapping yourself in a towel, you step out, the cool air prickling against your damp skin. you move to your bedroom, the ritual of moisturizing your skin a temporary comfort. your favorite lotion, thick and sweet like vanilla and brown sugar, lingers on your fingertips as you rub it into your arms and legs.

the clock on your nightstand glows 3:47 in vivid red, mocking you with the hours left until your hotline shift begins. you sigh, pulling on a pair of soft, worn pajamas, their familiarity soothing. the silence presses against your ears, heavy and unrelenting, so you turn on your tv, letting the hum of your favorite show fill the void. but even with the characters’ voices playing in the background, your thoughts are loud, relentless.

you drag yourself into the bathroom to begin your hair routine. from under the sink, you gather your tools: the flat iron, heat protectant, parting comb, rollers, and duck clips. the motions are automatic, practiced, almost meditative.

your thumb brushes against the flat iron’s switch, flicking it on. the red light blinks steadily as it warms up. you spray heat protectant onto your hair, the mist clinging to the strands, giving them a subtle sheen. when the iron’s light turns green, you pick it up and run it carefully down each section of hair. the heat transforms your coils into glossy, silken strands, the steam curling in the air like whispered secrets. you follow each pass with your comb before rolling the ends of your hair up to the roots and clipping them in place with a metallic duck clip.

the process repeats, your hands moving on autopilot, but your mind drifts elsewhere. you replay the meeting over and over, analyzing every glance, every word. the way her eyes lingered on you, searching for something just out of reach. does she know? or is this all some cruel coincidence?

your alarm buzzes sharply, jolting you from your thoughts. the clock now blares 6:20. you finish the last section of your hair, securing the roller in place, before turning off the alarm. as you set the flat iron down, another sound cuts through the room—the sharp trill of the phone. it’s the hotline.

your stomach flips as you hesitate, staring at the flashing light. finally, you take a deep breath, slip on your headset, and settle into the familiar rhythm of your persona.

thursday 6:32 pm — incoming call from +1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, california)

“hello, and thank you for calling the pulse network. this is star speaking.”

“star,” billie’s voice flows through the receiver, warm and honey-smooth. “how’s my favorite voice tonight?”

your heart clenches. it’s always like this when she calls, the way her voice sinks into your skin and leaves you aching for more.

“i’m good,” you reply, fighting to keep your tone steady. “you?”

“exhausted,” she admits, a soft chuckle following her words. “it’s been a day. i just got a new t.a., which i’m so grateful for, but she was so quiet. i think i scared her off.”

your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t speak. she’s talking about me.

“maybe she’s just shy,” you manage, your voice careful, measured.

the conversation flows, her voice a melody you know too well. she talks about her day, her words curling around you like smoke, hazy and intoxicating. you fall into the rhythm of your usual calls, her laughter tugging a small smile from your lips despite the weight in your chest.

when you mention your new nails, she perks up, her tone playful and teasing.

“tell me everything. what color? shape? i need details, star.”

her curiosity pulls you in, her warmth easing the tension in your shoulders just enough to let you breathe. for a moment, it feels normal—like it always has, like she’s just a voice on the other end of the line. but beneath the surface, you can feel the cracks forming, the weight of your secret threatening to shatter everything.

“baby?” she calls out, her voice soft, low, and dripping with a kind of warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

the little nickname stirs something in you, a flutter of wings in the pit of your stomach, delicate and chaotic.

“hm?” you hum, your tone nonchalant, though your pulse skips just slightly.

“i’ve always wondered if you had any tattoos or anything.”

her question catches you off guard, and you smile faintly, letting out a soft breath as you lean back in your chair.

“yeah, i have a couple.”

“oh? where?”

her tone shifts—curious but edged with something playful. it pulls a light laugh from you, your fingers idly tracing the edge of your desk.

“um… i have one on my spine, another in the middle of my boobs, like, on my sternum. there’s a few others, but i always forget about them. they’re mostly in places you can’t really see unless… you know.”

“unless what?” her voice takes on a teasing lilt, and you can hear the smirk tugging at her lips, even through the line.

your own lips curl as you lean forward slightly, your tone dipping into something slower, smoother, deliberate.

“unless i’m having sex or something”

the words hang in the air, heavy and electric. you hear her breath hitch faintly before she responds, her voice low, sultry, matching your energy effortlessly.

“just might have to take you up on that offer.”

your side of the line goes quiet for a beat, her words lingering in your head like smoke. you swallow hard, the heat blooming in your chest spreading lower. ever since this afternoon, your thoughts have been consumed by her. seeing her for the first time—her sharp blue eyes, the casual confidence in the way she moved—was enough to get your mind reeling and your body betraying you in ways you hadn’t expected.

you sigh softly, the sound escaping without permission, and lean back in your chair.

“you okay over there?” her voice breaks through your haze, tinged with genuine concern.

“yeah,” you say quickly, then pivot. “do you have any tattoos?”

“just six,” she says, her tone easing back into its usual calm rhythm. “not a lot. i have a back tattoo, one on my hip, two on my thigh, one on my sternum, and then everyone’s favorite—the one on my hand.”

she describes them casually, but her voice is warm, soft around the edges, and it paints vivid images in your mind. your thoughts immediately flash to the tattoo on her hand. you’d seen it earlier, the intricate details trailing over her skin. it had you thinking thoughts you shouldn’t, imagining her hands tracing over your body, exploring every sacred inch of you.

a low sound escapes your throat—something between a groan and a hum—and you don’t even realize it until the silence stretches between you.

“what was that?” her voice is teasing now, a quiet laugh slipping through, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“nothing,” you murmur, shifting in your seat. as you adjust, your elbow brushes against the desk, and the edge presses uncomfortably into your chest. a sharp pain shoots through you as it hits your nipple piercing, and you wince, sucking in a breath.

“what’s going on over there?” she asks, half-laughing, half-curious.

“nothing,” you say again, trying to brush it off, though your voice is tight. you bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut as the sting subsides, but your thoughts remain tangled in her—her voice, her hands, her presence.

this is dangerous, you think. and yet, you can’t seem to pull yourself away.

“i just bruised my fucking piercing.”

“what piercing?” her voice perks up, curiosity spilling through the line. there’s something in her tone—teasing, intrigued—that makes your stomach twist, heat curling under your skin.

you hesitate for a moment, then let it slip. “this damn nipple piercing. don’t even know why i got it.”

you didn’t, really. it was one of those impulsive decisions—your freshman year of college, sitting cross-legged on your dorm bed while your ex convinced you it’d be fun and cute. you remember the way she had grinned, her enthusiasm contagious, and before you knew it, you were booking an appointment. carson came with you, holding your hand and laughing the entire time, but she didn’t stop you either.

“you’re full of surprises, star,” billie says, a soft laugh weaving into her words. it’s a laugh that warms you, but it also disarms you, makes you feel more exposed than you intended. “but seriously, take care of yourself. that sounds painful.”

her concern lingers in the air, brushing against you in a way that feels intimate, like a hand on your shoulder or the press of her fingers tracing over your skin. you shift in your chair, biting your lip as her words replay in your mind.

“and how do you suggest i do that?” the question leaves your mouth before you can catch it, hanging there like a thread pulled loose.

there’s a pause on the line, just long enough for your heart to stutter, and then she speaks. her voice drops, soft and deliberate.

“do you trust me?”

your throat tightens, and you nod instinctively, even though she can’t see you. “yeah.”

your voice is quiet, a little unsteady, but honest. and in that moment, the walls of your room feel smaller, the distance between you and billie shrinking with every word exchanged.

“i’mma need you to say it, babe.”

her voice is steady, low, and commanding, the kind of tone that roots itself in your chest and refuses to let go. even though she isn’t physically there, you feel her presence like a weight, tangible and pressing. the air around you thickens, charged with an unspoken tension.

you hesitate, your pulse thrumming wildly against your throat. “i—” the words catch, sticking to your tongue. then you swallow hard and try again. “i trust you, billie.”

“just wanna help you out, okay?”

there’s a softness in her words now, a reassurance that wraps around you like a warm blanket. you nod before realizing she can’t see you. “okay.”

“good. what are you wearing?”

her question catches you off guard, even though deep down you already sensed where this was headed. your fingers toy with the edge of your desk, and your heart kicks up a notch.

“just a t-shirt and some sleep shorts.”

the admission feels simple enough, but the way her pause lingers on the line makes your skin prickle with anticipation.

“can you lift your shirt for me?”

her words come out smooth, velvet-coated, and they sink into you like the slow pull of a tide. the apprehension you’ve been holding onto tightens, coiling low in your belly. but there’s something magnetic in her voice, something that compels you to follow.

“mhm.” your response is soft, barely audible, but you know she hears it.

your hands find the hem of your shirt, your fingers grazing the fabric. the motion is slow, deliberate, like the weight of her voice has made everything else move in molasses. you pull the shirt over your head, the cool air hitting your skin in contrast to the heat that’s creeping up your neck and chest. carefully, you fold it, laying it down on the desk beside you like it’s something sacred.

the room feels quieter now, more intimate somehow. the faint hum of the tv in the background, the occasional creak of the apartment settling—all of it fades as you wait for her voice to return.

“now i want you to rub your tits for me, be nice and gentle to them. touch your nipples and tell me what kind of jewelry you got, baby.”

her voice is like a current, slow and unrelenting, pulling you into its depths. your body responds before your mind catches up, your hands moving instinctively to the soft curve of your chest.

your fingers skim along your skin, warm and pliant, before you focus on the sensitive peaks. a sharp inhale escapes your lips as your fingertips brush over the hardened buds, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. you tease yourself, tugging lightly, your movements deliberate yet tender.

“they’re, um—” your breath hitches, the words tumbling out unsteady. “they’re hearts, silver diamond hearts.”

you let the image sink in, your hands still working against your skin, and it feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something unspoken.

“mm—i just know they’re so pretty, how does it feel?”

her voice is low, almost a whisper, and yet it feels like it’s wrapped around you, coaxing you to give in.

“feels good, billie.” your voice is barely audible, your words coming out in a soft, breathless rush.

“i know it does, mama.”

the way she says it, smooth and confident, sends a warm flush through your body. it’s intimate, intoxicating, the kind of connection that feels like it exists in its own universe.

your hands falter slightly, your touch growing lighter as you bask in the way her words linger. the heat building under your skin seems to sync with the cadence of her voice, every syllable pressing against you like a soft, unseen touch.

you let out a quiet sigh, feeling the tension ebb and flow like waves against the shore, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

before you know it, her voice shifts, becoming softer, more intimate, like a low hum in the quiet night. her words settle over you, warm and heavy, weaving a haze you can’t escape—not that you want to. the rhythm of her voice is hypnotic, each syllable pulling you deeper into the moment, blurring the edges of your thoughts.

you let your head rest against the cool wood of your desk, eyes fluttering shut as her tone wraps around you like a secret only the two of you share.

billie’s breath hitches on her end of the line. the image of you—at your desk, bare skin glowing in the dim light, your hands exploring what she so desperately wishes she could—floods her mind. it consumes her, making her ache with a longing she’s unprepared for. her free hand trails absentmindedly to her chest, pressing lightly against her own skin as her voice dips lower.

“now i want you to touch the most sensitive parts of yourself,” she murmurs, the words rolling off her tongue like honey. “your lips, your neck. go slow, baby, there’s no rush.”

“okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, caught between hesitation and desire.

you start at your lips, your thumb brushing over the softness, tracing their shape as if committing them to memory. the sensation is subtle but electric, and you can’t help but imagine her doing the same—her hands, her mouth, leaving trails of warmth across your skin.

your fingers drift downward, grazing the curve of your neck, lingering where your pulse flutters beneath your skin. your breath catches as you press lightly, letting the heat of the moment seep into every nerve.

you let your hands travel further, down to the valley of your chest, the softness of your skin against your fingertips grounding you even as it sets you alight. every motion feels deliberate, each touch sending ripples of warmth through you. your fingers tease the edge of your waistband, a small gasp escaping your lips as you hover there, caught between restraint and surrender.

“you’re doing so good, mama,” billie murmurs, her voice rough around the edges now, her own breathing heavier than before. “how does it feel?”

you hesitate, swallowing hard before replying. “it feels—good. it feels so good.”

her voice comes again, softer, more urgent, like she’s right there, close enough to touch. “keep going for me, yeah? take your time.”

her words push you forward, her presence on the line the only tether you need. it’s electric, raw, and completely hers.

“take off your panties for me, love.”

her words wrap around you like a velvet ribbon, smooth and enticing, tugging at something deep within you. your teeth catch your bottom lip, nerves and anticipation tangling into one as her voice lingers in your ear, low and commanding.

“oh, well, you see, i’m not wearing…any.”

you pause, letting the words hang in the air, the silence heavy with implication.

“oh?” her response is slow, deliberate, and laced with a smirk you can practically hear. “that makes everything easier then. go ahead and slide your shorts off for me.”

your hands tremble slightly as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts. you peel the fabric away from your skin, the motion slow, deliberate, almost reverent. the dampness at the center is undeniable, the evidence of your arousal making your cheeks flush. you’re thankful for the black fabric, a small mercy in an otherwise vulnerable moment.

as the shorts fall away, the cool air in the room caresses your exposed skin, sending a shiver through you. it’s like the atmosphere itself is alive, charged with the tension billie’s voice weaves around you.

“are they off?” her voice is soft but insistent, each word settling deep into your core.

“yeah, yes, they’re off,” you exhale, the words barely audible, your breath catching as you shift slightly in your chair. the air presses against your skin, the sensitivity almost too much.

“look at you,” she murmurs, her tone dripping with praise. “being such a good girl for me.”

her words hit you like a warm rush, the praise melting into your chest and pooling low in your belly. a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, the sound vulnerable and raw.

the line crackles with a silence that feels anything but empty, the connection between you tangible even through the phone. it’s as if she’s right there with you, her presence wrapping around you, guiding you, pulling you closer to a kind of surrender you hadn’t anticipated.

“i want you to slowly feel the skin on your legs. stroke your inner thighs, tease yourself a little,” she whispers, her voice like silk unraveling across your skin.

you don’t hesitate, your hands gliding downward, fingers skimming over the smooth expanse of your thighs. the touch is light, tentative, as if testing the waters of your own restraint. goosebumps ripple in the wake of your movements, the coolness of the air mixing with the warmth pooling inside you.

your breath comes out uneven, a shaky exhale that echoes in the quiet room. the ache low in your stomach intensifies, spreading like a slow burn, and you can’t help but press your thighs together for even the smallest semblance of relief.

“like this?” your voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but the need in it is unmistakable.

“just like that,” billie purrs, her tone soothing yet commanding, each word pushing you further into the haze she’s crafted. “take your time. let your fingers linger. don’t rush it, love.”

your hands obey without thought, fingertips trailing along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. the sensation is electric, every nerve ending alive and sparking under your touch. you let your fingers wander, brushing higher, closer, teasing yourself with a deliberate slowness that borders on torture.

the tension in your body coils tighter with every passing second, and a small whimper escapes your lips. it feels as though the distance between you and billie is nonexistent, her presence palpable even through the thin crackle of the phone line.

“you feel good, don’t you?” her voice dips lower, rich and smoky. “i bet you’re dripping for me already.”

her words make you gasp softly, your body arching involuntarily as her confidence washes over you. she knows exactly what she’s doing, her tone laced with equal parts encouragement and command, pulling you deeper into the moment.

your fingers falter for a second, trembling as the ache inside you becomes almost unbearable. you bite your lip, the metallic taste grounding you briefly as your mind swims in the intoxicating warmth of her guidance.

“god, i wish i could see you right now. i know you look so good, thighs spread apart, pussy all glistening and wet— all because of me.”

her voice is molten, dripping with desire, and it feels like it wraps around you, constricting and coaxing you all at once. her words settle low in your stomach, feeding the fire that’s been building steadily, threatening to consume you.

“billie, please…” the plea escapes your lips in a shaky breath, barely audible, as your body trembles under the weight of her voice.

“want me to fuck you?” she asks, her tone soft yet firm, a tease wrapped in promise.

“mhm.” the sound is a desperate whimper, raw and unfiltered, and your nails dig into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, an attempt to anchor yourself as your mind spirals deeper into the heat of her words.

the room feels smaller, the air heavier. every sound, every creak of the chair, every whisper of breath feels amplified, blending into the symphony of your need. your thighs ache from the tension, the pressure of your own touch almost unbearable as your body responds to her commands.

you can picture her smirk on the other end of the line, that knowing, cocky curve of her lips, and it sends a shiver racing down your spine. it’s maddening how her presence can fill a space she isn’t even in, how her voice alone can undo you piece by piece.

“good girl,” she murmurs, her praise sending a jolt through your chest, straight to the core of you. “keep going, don’t stop now. i want to hear all those pretty little sounds you make.”

her words feel like a tether and a push all at once, keeping you grounded even as they push you further out of control. your breath hitches, a quiet moan slipping past your lips, your body moving instinctively, chasing the release she’s guiding you toward.

the way she says ‘good girl’ loops in your mind, a mantra that fuels every movement of your hands, every desperate whimper that escapes your lips. the ache inside you grows sharper, an unbearable tension building and building, and all you can think about is her.

“shit- go ahead and touch yourself baby, wanna hear how wet you are.”

taking your index and your middle finger, you spread your folds apart, before you dip your middle finger to touch your slit. coating your finger in your salivating ecstasy, you swipe up and down on your pussy. the sound of your slick wetness echoing throughout the room. touching your bundle of nerves your rub it in circle motions, pushing down on it just slightly to get the right amount of friction.

billie closed her eyes and tries to steady her breathing as she hears you on the other end, practically begging her to fuck you. and she wish she could do it too, take her time with you to touch you properly and to make you come undone as many times as she wanted to.

“oh my, fuck babe.” a string of curse words slips from billie’s lips, and you can feel her breath hitch through the line. there’s something about hearing her react that sends a shiver down your spine, and you can tell that the sound of your moans and the atmosphere in the room have her completely captivated. every sound you make, every little shift, she’s there with you in it, even if it’s through the phone.

billie shifts, her voice quieter now, like she’s trying to keep herself steady. “i want to feel you so bad… but for now, this will have to do,” she murmurs, her words trailing off with longing. lying on her bed she sat up against her head board, shoving her hands down her sweats and playing with her own clit, the pads of her pointer and middle finger gently rub steady, figure 8's against her nub as she tried to match your pace.

you imagine her lying back, the soft glow of her room casting faint shadows, just the sound of her voice filling the space. you know she’s doing the same thing you are — wanting to be closer, but for now, savoring the distance in the only way she can.

your eyes squeeze shut at the thought, the image of billie crystal clear in your mind. she’s on her knees, her lips slightly parted, her tongue teasing and deliberate. her thumb would press against your most sensitive spot, slow circles coaxing pleasure from you as her eyes stay fixed on yours, sharp and unwavering, like she’s committing every flicker of your expression to memory. you’d tangle your fingers in her soft hair, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her breath against your skin, every moment searing itself into your mind.

a low moan slips past your lips, involuntary and raw, as you shift in place, letting the image take over. the ache inside you grows, pressing against the edges of your composure, and you can’t help but imagine how her touch would feel—how every word she’s murmured would finally come to life under her fingertips.

“you’re so perfect,” billie’s voice hums through the speaker, her tone soft but rough around the edges, laced with the kind of restraint that makes your heart pound harder. “keep going, baby. let me hear you.”

her own breathing hitches slightly on the other end, breaking the rhythm of her steady voice. it’s as if she’s right there with you, matching the pace, letting the connection between you stretch taut like a thread pulled to its breaking point. the sound of her—soft curses under her breath, the quiet rasp of her voice—sends shivers along your skin, and it’s almost too much.

the room feels charged, the air thick with a tension you can’t name but don’t want to escape from. every word she says pulls you deeper, every second on the line feels like a lifetime wrapped in her presence, and for now, that’s enough.

“holy shit. you sound so fucking good for me. so fucking perfect.”

her words spill through the phone, low and gravelly, threading through the quiet of your room. each syllable feels like a caress against your skin, pulling you deeper into the moment, and your fingers obey without hesitation, working in rhythm with her praise.

“feels so good, billie, fuck. you feel so good.” the words tumble out of you, shaky and raw, your voice catching on the edges of your breath.

“wish i was there so i could help you, baby.”

it’s then you notice it—her breathing, uneven and rushed, broken by faint, muffled sounds. you hadn’t really picked up on it before, but now it’s all you can focus on. the soft, rhythmic moans slipping through the line, the faint wet sounds beneath her breath, as if she’s right there with you, mirroring your every movement.

your chest tightens at the thought, a spark of heat running through you. the ache builds, sharp and unrelenting, driving your fingers to move faster, each motion more desperate than the last. the air around you feels heavy, charged with anticipation, and every inhale is shallow, quick, feeding the fire that billie’s voice has set ablaze.

“oh baby, billie—i’m gonna—please—just—fuck,” you whine, your voice breaking with the force of it all, your words spilling over each other in a rush. they don’t make sense, but nothing does in this moment except the way she makes you feel.

“that’s it, baby,” her voice trembles, heavy with want and barely contained restraint. “let go for me, love.”

and that was it. the sharp edge of release tore through you, pulling a low, penetrating moan from your lips. your body trembled as waves of heat rolled over you, your fingers working instinctively to draw out every last ounce of pleasure. billie’s name fell from your mouth like a prayer, soft yet desperate, as you made a mess of yourself, utterly unraveled.

your chest heaved, the rise and fall rapid as you tried to steady your breath. the world around you felt hazy, distant, like everything had faded into the background except for the sound of her voice spilling through the line.

“good job, baby, you did so good for me,” she murmured, her tone soft and full of pride. on the other end, you could hear her breathing too, uneven and ragged, her words laced with the remnants of her own high. her praise wrapped around you like a warm blanket, grounding you, until—

she says your name. not just your name but the one that feels heavy, official. the one you thought she didn’t know. it rolls off her tongue like it belongs there, smooth and deliberate, shattering the fragile bubble you’d built between the two of you.

your heart stops. your breath catches. a chill races up your spine. “what did you just say?”

silence follows, thick and suffocating, stretching out like a chasm between you.

“nothing,” she quips, too quickly, the edge of something unreadable in her voice.

your tone sharpens, cutting through the quiet. “billie.” it’s a warning, low and steady, but laced with an undercurrent of unease.

her next words are quiet, almost hesitant, yet certain in a way that makes the floor feel like it’s slipping out from under you.

“i know it’s you.”

the world tilts, panic surging in your chest like a tidal wave. heat floods your face, and suddenly the room feels too small, too suffocating. “i—i have to go,” you stammer, the words spilling from your lips without thought. with shaking hands, you rip the headset off, your pulse thundering in your ears as you end the call.

the silence that follows is deafening, but your heart continues to pound, the realization settling over you like a weight.

you sit there, frozen, staring blankly at the wall as your mind races in a chaotic loop. how could she know? what does this mean? the questions tumble over each other, relentless, leaving no room for answers. leaning back in your chair, your eyes dart around the room, searching for anything to ground you, but instead, they land on the vanity mirror across from you.

your breath catches. there it is. that damn butterfly tattoo etched delicately behind your ear, its wings trailing faintly onto the side of your neck—a design you often forget about until moments like this. the same tattoo she had been staring at earlier today, her gaze lingering just a beat too long.

with an aggravated huff, you reach out and spin the mirror around, unable to look at it any longer. the sight feels accusatory now, a reminder of your slip, your vulnerability. you shove the chair back with a screech and hurry to the bathroom, the need to cleanse yourself and your space overwhelming. the cool water against your skin is sharp, but it doesn’t quiet your spiraling thoughts.

as you clean the chair and pull your clothes back on, the fog in your mind thickens. panic churns in your chest, mingling with an odd cocktail of shame and unease. you know she didn’t mean to make you feel this way, but the weight of it lingers all the same.

then, your phone buzzes, yanking you from the haze. the screen lights up with another call, but your focus is fractured. with trembling fingers, you force yourself to answer, masking your nerves with the practiced ease of someone who knows how to play their role.

meanwhile, across the city, billie is pacing her room, her hands raking through her hair, disheveling the strands until they’re as chaotic as her thoughts. she knows she’s messed up—badly—and the regret is gnawing at her. she grabs her phone and dials the hotline again, but there’s no answer, only an echoing silence that fuels her desperation.

unable to sit with her guilt, she opens the app and sends a payment—your expected earnings for the session she interrupted, plus a tip. the amount is significant, but it feels insignificant compared to the words she can’t seem to say. she types out a brief note to accompany it: “i’m sorry. can we talk tomorrow?” her finger hovers over the send button before she taps it, watching the transaction disappear into the void.

you, however, keep moving through the night, each call leaving you feeling more drained than the last. panic still lingers in the corners of your mind, intertwined with the sting of dejection and the unsettling sense of vulnerability. though you remind yourself that her intentions weren’t malicious, the leftover shock clings stubbornly, refusing to fade.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, you decide you’ve made enough for the night. with an exhausted sigh, you shut down the hotline, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders. the room falls into darkness as you flick off the lights, retreating to your bed and mindlessly flipping through channels, hoping for distraction.

but then, the soft chime of your phone breaks the silence.

new transactions — 3:15 am

+1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, ca) - $350.00 + $550 tip, notes: “i’m sorry. can we talk tomorrow?”

+1 (254) 783-0184 (dallas, TX) - $79.72

+1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC) - $153.68

+1 (201) 508-3416 (bayonne, NJ) - $220.65

+1 (216) 347-0517 (cleveland, OH) - $37.54 + $35 tip

your eyes skim over the notifications, your attention halting at the first one. you know it’s her. your chest tightens, a mix of gratitude and hesitation washing over you. the tip is generous, overly so, but you can’t bring yourself to reply. not now.

with a sigh, you lock your phone and set it face down on the nightstand, the screen now dark and unyielding. rolling onto your side, you close your eyes and try to will yourself to sleep, but the thoughts keep creeping back in, tangled and persistent.

the night stretches on, heavy and endless.

friday 8:45 am —

the next morning drifts by in a haze, the weight of the night before pressing into your chest like a stone. billie’s slip-up loops endlessly in your mind, her voice saying your name with the kind of familiarity that shouldn’t exist. it feels like a quiet earthquake, shifting everything beneath your feet and leaving you unsteady.

but the day doesn’t care about your turmoil. you have a packed schedule: the forensics seminar in san diego is a top priority, and you can’t afford to let your personal life bleed into your professional one.

the seminar stretches on far longer than expected, the clock’s hands spinning faster than they should. presentations drone, conversations pile up, and you lose track of time between networking and handshakes. by the time you finally make it to your car, you’re already behind. your first day as billie’s ta looms, and you’re cutting it dangerously close.

frustration bubbles in your chest as you toss your heels onto the passenger seat and swap them for your sneakers. the drive back to los angeles feels like a blur, the highway unwinding like a taut ribbon, city lights flickering in your periphery.

when you arrive on campus, you’re out of breath, your sneakers tightly laced, your bag slung over one shoulder. the music department’s doors creak as you push them open, the sound echoing in the stillness of the hallway. billie’s office waits at the end, her name etched on the placard beside the door.

you steel yourself as you approach, forcing your posture to straighten and your expression to settle into something neutral. you can’t afford to let last night’s mess seep into today.

when you step inside, billie looks up from her desk, a polite but cautious smile flickering across her face. she cradles a mug of tea in her hands, the steam curling up in soft tendrils.

“you made it,” she says softly, her voice careful, like she’s testing the waters.

“yeah,” you mumble, your voice flat as you drop your bag onto the chair nearest the door.

she gestures toward the kettle on a side table. “i made some tea if you want.”

you shake your head. “no, thanks.”

the silence that follows is thick and awkward, settling over the room like a dense fog. you take a seat and reach for the stack of papers she’s prepared, diving into the grading without so much as a glance in her direction. your pen moves methodically, the scratching of ink against paper the only sound breaking the stillness.

billie tries to bridge the gap with small talk, her tone light but tentative. “how was the seminar?”

“fine,” you reply curtly, not looking up.

“did you learn anything new?”

“not really.”

then she says something that makes your hand pause mid-motion, the words slipping out so softly they almost disappear into the air between you.

“you look pretty.”

the warmth of her voice lingers, curling around you like smoke, uninvited but hard to ignore. for a moment, your resolve falters, heat rising unbidden to your cheeks.

“thanks,” you murmur, forcing the words out before returning to the papers in front of you. your hand moves faster now, as if the quicker you work, the less you’ll feel.

the air grows heavier with every clipped response, every wall you put up. you feel her eyes on you—watching, waiting—but you refuse to meet her gaze. instead, you pull out your phone, scrolling aimlessly through instagram, letting the stream of curated stories and fleeting glimpses into other people’s lives distract you from the weight of your own.

you wish you’d said yes to carson yesterday. you imagine yourself anywhere but here, laughing over drinks or walking aimlessly through the city, free from this suffocating room and its unspoken tension.

your phone finds its way back to the desk, face down, the screen going dark like the mood in the room. you shuffle through the stack of papers, forcing your focus back to the words in front of you, but your mind keeps drifting. billie’s presence sits heavy, her silence louder than anything she could say.

the papers in front of you blur, the words melting into indistinguishable smudges as your pen moves mindlessly across the page. the ticking clock on the wall grows louder with each second, the steady rhythm grating against your nerves. billie’s presence feels suffocating, her quiet, measured breaths and those occasional glances prickling at your skin like needles. no matter how much you try, you can’t shake the feeling of her eyes on you. still, you keep yours trained on the stack of papers, determined to maintain a veneer of professionalism.

the silence between you is brittle, threatening to crack. it’s billie who finally breaks it, her voice soft but resolute. “are we going to talk about it?”

“talk about what?” you respond, keeping your tone as even as you can, your gaze fixed on the paper beneath your pen.

“you know what i mean.”

your fingers tighten around the pen, and you press it harder against the page, the words blurring even more. “there’s nothing to talk about.”

she exhales, and the sound carries frustration, an edge you’re not sure you’re ready to face. “you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“i can, actually,” you reply sharply, the bitterness in your tone slipping out before you can stop it.

“no, you don’t,” you say, louder this time, your voice firm, unyielding.

the next words that leave her mouth hit like a slap. “quit acting like a dick.”

your pen freezes mid-stroke, the ink bleeding into the paper. your head snaps up, and you glare at her, the tension between you thick enough to choke on. “excuse me?”

billie doesn’t back down. she crosses her arms, leaning slightly forward, her posture tense. “you heard me. we’ve been talking for weeks, and now, after one awkward call, you’re acting like i don’t exist.”

a bitter laugh escapes your lips as you scoff, shaking your head. “it’s not that simple.”

her gaze sharpens, her blue eyes piercing through your defenses. “then explain it to me,” she presses, her tone walking the tightrope between firm and gentle. “because from where i’m sitting, it looks like you’re punishing me for something that caught both of us off guard.”

her words dig under your skin, unearthing emotions you’ve tried to bury since last night. frustration bubbles over, spilling into your voice. “it’s not just that, billie,” you snap, the pen slipping from your fingers as you lean back in your chair. “you called me by my name. my name. you knew who i was this whole time, and you didn’t say anything. do you even understand how messed up that feels?”

her shoulders slump slightly, and her expression shifts, guilt softening the sharp lines of her face. “look,” she starts, her voice quiet now, tinged with regret. “i know it’s weird. i know i screwed up. and i’m sorry for what i did—how i handled it. i should’ve told you the moment i recognized you, but i didn’t know how. i didn’t want to scare you off. but can we stop pretending like this is something it’s not?”

you blink, the weight of her words settling heavily in the air between you. her gaze is steady, unwavering, and there’s something vulnerable in the way she looks at you, like she’s peeling back layers she’d rather keep hidden.

she shifts forward, resting her arms on the desk, the smallest flicker of hope breaking through her hesitation. “let me make it up to you. dinner, my place, my treat. no games. just you and me talking. figuring this out.”

you hesitate, her voice hanging in the space between you like an open door. her sincerity wraps around you, tugging at the edges of your resolve.

your lips part as if to respond, but the words stall in your throat. the clock ticks on, and for a moment, the room is silent again, the kind of silence that feels like it could break at any second.

“dinner?” you repeat, your voice laced with skepticism, narrowing your eyes as if the word itself might betray some hidden meaning.

“yes, dinner,” she replies, her voice softer now, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, delicate like a promise hanging in the air.

you study her, eyes tracing the lines of her face, the subtle shift in her posture as she waits for your response. it’s a soft invitation, yet you can’t shake the weight of everything that’s been unsaid. after a long, pregnant pause, you finally sigh, the tension in your chest letting out with the exhale. you push back your chair, the screech of it against the floor sharp in the quiet room. “fine. but this doesn’t mean we’re good.”

billie’s smile falters for a moment but quickly steadies, her nodding serious and thoughtful. “fair enough. but it’s a start.”

the silence settles between you, a thick, almost tangible thing as you gather your things. her presence lingers in the room, and though she tries to mask it with the faintest smile, the tension that hangs between you is nearly suffocating. you sling your bag over your shoulder, your hand brushing against your phone before you glance at it absentmindedly, letting it slip back into your bag as you head for the door.

the rain greets you before you’ve even stepped outside—a heavy, relentless downpour that blurs the view through the glass doors, transforming the world into a watery smear. you pause, groaning softly, the cold air that seeps through the doorframe making your skin prickle. you glance at your car parked on the far side of the lot, the distance mocking you. of course, it had to rain today.

“you’re not seriously planning to drive in this, are you?” billie’s voice drifts toward you, a note of concern threading through her words as she steps closer.

“i’ll be fine,” you respond quickly, clutching your bag tighter as if it could shield you from the storm that’s waiting to soak you through.

billie steps into your space, the jangle of her keys cutting through the tension between you like a knife. “i’ll drive you.”

you turn to face her, shaking your head in reflex. “that’s not necessary—”

“it’s pouring out there,” she interrupts, her voice more insistent now, the firm edge of authority slipping through. “you can barely see five feet ahead. i’m driving.”

you hesitate, biting back a retort as the sound of the rain intensifies, slamming against the roof like a million tiny fists. it’s a losing battle. the rain’s not letting up, and as much as you hate the thought of being trapped in a confined space with her, you know she’s right.

“okay,” you mutter, your voice thick with reluctant acceptance. “but this doesn’t mean anything.”

billie chuckles, a low, quiet sound that wraps around the words you’d just said. she shakes her head as she opens the door for you, the soft creak of it almost drowned out by the rain. “whatever you say.”

the ride to billie’s house is quiet, save for the rhythmic patter of rain against the roof, the sound almost hypnotic in its repetition. the low hum of the heater fills the car, but it can’t seem to chase the chill away. you keep your eyes fixed on the window, watching as the city lights smear into streaks, the glow of them soft and distant against the blackened night. billie’s hands rest on the steering wheel, her fingers tapping lightly, a subtle movement that betrays the rhythm she’s hearing in her head.

“you okay over there?” her voice cuts through the silence, soft and tentative.

“i’m fine,” you reply curtly, your gaze never leaving the blurred world outside, unwilling to meet her eyes.

billie doesn’t push, her focus shifting back to the road ahead. you can feel the weight of her unspoken words pressing in the space between you, but she doesn’t say anything more. when she finally pulls into the driveway of her house, the rain is still coming down in sheets, relentless, unforgiving. she parks the car, the engine’s hum dying as she cuts it off. for a beat, there’s only the sound of the rain, a quiet, natural backdrop to the tension that clings to both of you.

she turns to face you, her eyes steady, searching, but she doesn’t speak.

“wait here,” she says, her voice a quiet command as she grabs an umbrella from the backseat. with a swift motion, she steps into the downpour, her silhouette swallowed by the rain for a brief moment before she circles around the car, opening your door. the umbrella hovers above you, a delicate shield against the storm. the gesture catches you off guard, something soft in it that you hadn’t expected, but you mumble a quiet thanks, stepping out and letting her guide you, her presence warm against the cold night, toward the front door.

inside, you take in your surroundings, your eyes tracing the clean lines of the sleek, modern design of billie’s home. every corner seems intentional, every surface polished. the walls are lined with awards, their golden surfaces catching the soft, ambient light, gleaming proudly like trophies of a life lived in the spotlight. you swallow a quiet surprise, suddenly feeling out of place.

“so, you are rich,” you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them, the weight of them hanging in the air.

billie’s soft laugh meets your ears, a musical sound that feels oddly comforting in this unfamiliar space. “i wouldn’t say rich,” she replies with a shrug, leading you further inside. “comfortable, maybe.”

before you can muster a response, the soft pattering of paws against the hardwood floor catches your attention. a gray pit bull pads over, his tail wagging enthusiastically, his nose already working overtime as he sniffs at you curiously, his eyes bright and welcoming.

“shark,” billie says with affection, her voice warm as she crouches down to scratch behind his ears, the bond between them clear in the way she speaks. “he’s friendly.”

you lower yourself to the dog’s level, extending your hand so he can get a proper sniff. when he finally accepts you, his head tilts slightly, and you give him a gentle scratch behind the ears. “hey, big guy,” you murmur, the smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as his tail wags harder, thumping against the floor in a rhythm that feels oddly like approval.

when you stand, you catch billie watching you. her gaze is intense, but there’s something there—something unreadable—that makes your chest tighten. she quickly looks away, clearing her throat as if trying to shake off a thought. “wine?” she offers, her voice casual, though there’s a subtle vulnerability in the gesture, as if the invitation is both a question and a subtle apology.

you nod, and she pours two glasses of deep burgundy red wine, the liquid catching the light as it fills the glasses, a dark promise in each drop. she hands you one before moving toward the kitchen. “i was thinking we could cook something simple. nothing fancy,” she adds, her voice laced with an easy kind of familiarity.

you follow her into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as she opens the fridge. she stares at its contents for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly as if the answer to some silent question isn’t immediately obvious. a defeated sigh escapes her, the vulnerability in it making you pause.

“i honestly don’t know what i’m doing,” she admits, the words tinged with an unexpected embarrassment, her voice soft but sincere.

you smirk, your gaze fixed on her for a beat, before you set your glass down with a quiet clink. “need some help?” you ask, the playful edge to your voice masking the way her admission makes you feel, like you’ve just uncovered something real.

she glances at you, her eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place, before a faint look of relief spreads across her features. “yeah,” she says with a small, shy smile. “that’d be great.”

you gesture to your outfit, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the space. “do you have something i can change into?” you ask, your voice quiet. “i don’t want to ruin this.”

she blinks in surprise, then nods. “oh, yeah, of course,” she says quickly, before disappearing down a hallway. when she returns, she’s holding a pair of sweats and a hoodie, the soft fabric a far cry from the sleek, polished atmosphere of her home. “here,” she offers, her voice gentle, but there’s a warmth in the way she looks at you as if she’s seeing you—really seeing you—for the first time tonight.

you change in the guest bathroom, the soft fabric of billie’s sweats and hoodie carrying the faint, comforting scent of her detergent. it lingers around you, mixing with the quiet hum of the house as you slip back into the kitchen. when you re-enter, billie’s eyes flicker over to you, a fleeting moment of something unreadable in her gaze, but it lingers just a second too long.

“you clean up nice,” she teases, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips, her voice light but edged with something you can’t quite place.

you shrug, rolling up your sleeves, the fabric brushing your forearms. “shut up and start chopping those veggies,” you reply, a hint of challenge in your voice, but there’s a softness to it, too.

as the two of you work, the tension from earlier seems to dissolve, like fog lifting under the morning sun. easy conversation flows between you, and the kitchen, with its warm lighting and rhythmic sounds of chopping, feels more like home with each passing moment. you tell her about your ups and downs as a college student—the late-night study sessions, the sneaky runs past your RA’s when you had to hide things you weren’t supposed to have. you share how you were a cheerleader only because of your best friend, and how, despite your excitement to graduate, there’s a gnawing fear deep down—because school, for all its stress and chaos, is all you’ve ever known.

billie listens intently, her eyes fixed on you, absorbing every word as she watches you bring a pot of water to a boil, adding a pinch of salt, and then sprinkling in the penne noodles with practiced ease. her gaze flickers from your eyes down the line of your nose, tracing the curve to your lips—glossy, slightly parted as you speak—and then to the tattoo peeking out from behind your ear. she finally makes out the design—a swirl of blue and black butterflies etched into your skin, delicate and intricate.

it’s funny, but in that moment, she realizes she’s feeling like those butterflies—fluttering around in her chest, her stomach tight with something she can’t name. watching you in her kitchen, making dinner in her clothes, feeling like you belonged in this space, made her feel… domesticated. it was a feeling she wasn’t used to, something scary but good.

“are you just gonna watch, or are you gonna help too?” your voice breaks the quiet as you turn to look at her. your eyes catch hers, a spark of mischief in the air between you, before she crosses her arms over her chest, leaning casually against the corner countertop to the right of you.

“nah,” she smirks, her gaze flickering over you with a softness that doesn’t quite match the playful tone of her words. “you seem to be doing just fine.”

her hand reaches for her glass, bringing the wine to her lips. it’s a moment of indulgence, a slow sip that fills her senses with its velvety smoothness. there’s a burst of ripe, dark fruit on her tongue—blackberries, plums, black cherries—interwoven with subtle notes of red currants and raspberries. the taste, rich and elegant, almost too perfect for this moment, feels like it’s been made for her.

with a dramatic roll of your eyes, you grab a knife, holding it out playfully. the tip points at her, aimed at her stomach. “chop,” you say, a teasing edge to your voice as you wave the knife between her and the cutting board sitting on your left. “go on.”

with an exaggerated huff, billie snatches the knife from your hand and moves over to the chopping board, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. you turn your attention back to the sauce, rifling through her spice cabinet with a sense of purpose until you find the seasonings you need. you set them on the counter, the familiar weight of the bottles grounding you in the task at hand, but you can still feel her presence—like a quiet hum in the room.

turning on the burner, you grab a smaller pot and set it on the stove, tossing in the ingredients for the pasta sauce, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filling the air as you give it a gentle stir.

“shit—” you hear billie say, her voice tinged with frustration. glancing over, you see her holding a knife the wrong way, hovering over a green bell pepper like it’s some sort of adversary she’s unsure how to defeat.

“okay, stop,” you say, setting your spoon down and walking over to her. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”

billie chuckles, stepping back with her hands up in mock surrender. “i told you i don’t know what i’m doing. you’re the one who offered to help.”

you roll your eyes, but the faint smile tugging at your lips betrays the irritation you’re trying to suppress. “hand me the knife.”

she obliges, her fingers releasing the blade with a soft sigh as she leans back against the counter. you take it from her, the cool handle fitting easily in your hand, and begin slicing the bell pepper with practiced ease. her gaze is unwavering, like she’s studying you—watching every movement you make, as though your hands hold some kind of secret she’s trying to unravel.

“stop staring at me,” you mutter, without looking up from your work.

“can’t help it,” billie replies lightly, her voice almost like a tease. “you’re kind of fascinating.”

you pause mid-slice, glancing up at her. the look in her eyes is softer now, less playful, more… something else. something that makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not sure you like, a fluttering feeling that you can’t quite place.

“focus,” you murmur, turning your attention back to the vegetables, hoping the distraction will keep your mind from wandering.

billie chuckles softly, her presence like a quiet hum behind you. she moves closer, her body edging up to yours until she’s standing just behind you. her hand brushes against your waist—delicate, light, but enough to send a small shock through you as she leans in closer to watch you work. you slice the pepper into thin, even pieces, the knife gliding through with ease. you reach for a piece and turn slightly, offering it to her.

instead of taking it from your hand, like you expect, billie angles her head down. her lips brush against the tips of your fingers as she slides the pepper into her mouth, her eyes holding yours in a quiet challenge. you freeze, heart skipping a beat, watching the way she lingers just a second too long.

“is it good?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“yeah, thank you.” her voice is soft, a low hum that sends a thrill down your spine. at this point, her hands have found their place on your waist, steadying herself as she lingers close. before you can process it, she presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, the brush of her lips light but warm. the world seems to slow, and you freeze, the knife hovering mid-air over the cutting board.

“i—” billie starts, pulling back quickly, her breath catching as she realizes what she’s done. “shit, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean—”

“no, it’s okay,” you interrupt, your voice soft, almost a whisper. the words come out before you can stop them, and there’s an honesty in your tone that surprises you. “i… kinda liked it.”

billie’s eyes search yours, her gaze searching for something you’re not sure you’re ready to give. there’s hesitation there, a quiet storm of uncertainty in her expression. after a beat, she nods, her hands lingering on your waist for just a moment longer before she steps back, her touch slipping away like water through your fingers.

you continue making dinner, the soft sizzle of the sauce simmering filling the kitchen as you stir occasionally. the rhythm of the task is soothing, the casual clink of utensils against the pan blending with the low hum of conversation. you find yourself laughing at billie’s dry wit, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel forced, just two people sharing space and time.

dinner is served shortly after, and the two of you settle at the small dining table, the warm light overhead casting soft shadows around the room. the atmosphere is relaxed, easy—surprisingly so. billie is funny, her sarcastic quips balanced by moments of genuine curiosity about you. her questions are casual, but there’s something deeper beneath them, an earnestness that feels refreshing.

“so,” she says, taking a sip of her wine, “why forensics?”

you shrug, twirling a piece of meat on your fork, contemplating your answer. “i’ve always liked puzzles. figuring things out, piecing them together. plus, it’s practical. there’s always work for someone who can solve problems.”

billie nods thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considers your words. “makes sense. seems like you’re good at that—figuring things out.”

her words hang in the air for a moment, and you can’t tell if she’s talking about more than just your career. her gaze softens, and you look down, focusing on your plate, suddenly aware of how close she is, how much weight is in that quiet compliment.

“what about you?” you ask, finally breaking the silence, your voice steady but curious.

“what about me?” billie tilts her head, a playful edge to her tone.

“why did you become a teacher? you clearly don’t need the money, so tell me.” you pause, laying your fork down and resting your elbows on the table, folding your hands together and propping your head up on them. “don’t hold back.”

billie huffs out a light laugh, twirling her fork slowly on her plate, the motion almost absentminded as she takes her time answering. “uh… well, music’s always been something i’ve loved. and i will love it till the day i die. but the fame that came along with it…” she trails off with a deep sigh, her eyes flicking down to her plate. “that wasn’t something i necessarily loved. don’t get me wrong, i love my supporters and i’m forever grateful for them, but at times it would get overwhelming. i suppose…”

her gaze shifts away from you, her focus distant as she stirs the food on her plate. it’s as though she’s not just talking to you but to herself, too. her words are soft, laced with a kind of exhaustion that speaks of a life lived too quickly. “just kinda got burned out too quick and i wanted to disappear for a while. but i still wanted to actively share music with others—besides, you know, my friends and family and such. so i took some online classes, got my teaching license, and my mom told me a job was open at the university, so i took it.”

a beat passes as you take in her words, and you can’t help but wonder what it must be like, having to leave behind something that once lit you up because the world took too much from you. it’s hard to imagine, but you get it, in a way.

“would you ever publish music again?” you ask, the question floating between you two like a breath.

billie leans in slightly, her voice dropping as if she’s about to reveal a secret. “i’ve actually been working on something,” she says, her smile contagious, her eyes lighting up. “i can show you later.” she clears her throat, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms, trying to play it off as no big deal. “i mean, if you want. it doesn’t matter.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “i would like that. a lot.”

the conversation moves easily after that, with billie washing the dishes while you dry them, not letting her refuse your offer. you laugh at her protests, the rhythm of it a kind of unspoken dance you both slip into. there’s a comfortable silence between you, broken only by the occasional clink of glass or the soft hum of the running water.

once the dishes are done, billie suggests watching a movie. you hesitate, glancing at the clock, but ultimately agree. you settle onto the couch with a glass of wine in hand, the cool glass offering a little relief as you sip and settle into the cushions. the movie plays in the background, but neither of you is really paying attention. the sound of the film blends with the quiet, comfortable hum of each other’s presence, and it feels as though the world outside could just slip away for a while.

billie sits close—closer than she needs to. her arm rests casually on the back of the couch, her fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. you try to ignore it, focusing on the screen, but it’s impossible not to feel the heat radiating from her, a subtle electricity in the air between you.

“can i ask you something?” she says suddenly, her voice low and quiet, barely above the hum of the movie.

you glance at her, your heart skipping a beat. “what?”

“can i kiss you?”

the question catches you off guard, like a breath you didn’t know you were holding. you blink, your mind racing. “i—”

“it’s okay if you don’t want to,” billie adds quickly, her voice softer now, pulling back just slightly. “i just… i wanted to ask.”

you don’t know why, but you nod. maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you—her blue eyes soft, earnest, like she’s searching for something in you that she’s not sure of. it feels like the right thing to do, even if your heart is suddenly pounding in your chest.

billie leans in slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, her movements deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. when her lips finally meet yours, it’s soft, tentative—like she’s testing the waters, unsure but hopeful. your breath hitches, caught in the moment, and for a brief second, you forget how to move.

but then you’re kissing her back, your hands finding their way to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens, soft and searching. it’s like the world narrows to just the two of you, everything else fading into the background.

one kiss turns into two, then three, until you’re both breathless, tangled in each other. billie pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, her breath warm against your skin.

“come with me,” she murmurs, her voice a low, coaxing whisper, her hand finding yours and gently leading you down the hall.

her bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. everything in here feels like an extension of her—a chaotic yet comfortable blend of soft fabrics, scattered music sheets, and mismatched furniture that somehow all comes together. a record player hums quietly in the corner, its melody filling the space with a quiet intimacy.

she turns to you, her hands resting on your waist as she searches your face for any sign of hesitation. you reach up, your fingers grazing her cheek gently, hoping to ease the worry that flickers in her eyes. leaning close, your breath ghosts over her lips, your nose brushing against her own, the air warm between you two. your eyes flicker to hers, a silent question hanging there—are you sure?

her left hand slides to the side of your neck, her thumb tracing the curve of your jaw before she pulls you closer, her lips brushing against yours again. this kiss is deeper, more insistent. her tongue swipes over your bottom lip, soft and teasing, before gently nipping at the skin, asking for permission. you open your mouth slightly, giving her access, and she takes it, her kiss hungry and tender all at once.

she trails soft kisses from the corner of your lips down your throat, each one sending a shiver through you. your hands find their way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your fingers. her hand leaves your neck, moving to rest on your hip as she begins to trail her lips down, marking your skin with slow, wet kisses.

you gasp softly as she moves, her lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. she pulls back just slightly, meeting your lips again in another kiss, this one more urgent, as if the world outside has ceased to exist. her hands slide beneath your hoodie, the cold metal of her rings brushing against your side, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her touch. your breath catches as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours, each touch feeling like it has a life of its own.

she grabs the hem of your hoodie, lifting the fabric slowly, her fingers grazing the skin of your abdomen as it slips over your head, leaving you in just your bra. the cold air of her room nips at your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“so beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, reverence in every word. her hands are back on you in an instant, sliding up your back until they rest just beneath the band of your bra, her touch tender and warm.

her compliment stirs something inside you, a small, involuntary smile curling on your lips. you reach for the collar of her shirt, fingers trembling ever so slightly as you gently undo the buttons one by one, taking your time.

billie watches you, her gaze softening as you brush your thumb across her collarbones. she feels a warmth in her chest that’s unfamiliar yet comforting. you let your hands trail over her chest, down her stomach, stopping at the hem of her blue shirt. your eyes meet hers, a silent question in the softness of your gaze, asking for permission. she nods, her eyes flickering with something deeper.

her breath catches in her throat as you move, tender and deliberate, as though each movement is a quiet reverence for her. you reach for her chains, your fingers sliding beneath them to tuck the necklaces inside her shirt, and then you lift her blue polo over her head, the fabric sliding against her skin. you toss it to the side, leaving her in only a simple white undershirt.

a soft smile plays at her lips, one that’s almost shy, before she presses her palm gently to your cheek. without thinking, you lean into her touch, your breath catching at the intimacy of the moment. she leans in again, her lips finding yours, and a low groan escapes her as she feels the softness of your lips against hers, the warmth between you two pulsing.

her hand slides down to the drawstring of your sweats, tugging them gently as she guides you toward her bed. she sits down on the edge, pulling you on top of her, your legs straddling her lap. her hands move instinctively to your thighs, rubbing them gently through the thick fabric, grounding herself in the feel of you beneath her.

you press your lips to her neck, starting just behind her ear, then trailing down, each kiss lingering softly against her skin. the wet sound of your kisses fills the air, each one leaving its mark. billie’s hands move slowly, exploring the curve of your lower back, her fingers grazing over the tattoo you spoke of the night before. the intricate design sends a shiver through you as her touch leaves goosebumps in its wake, her fingertips tracing its path upwards.

her hands reach the clasp of your bra, the delicate touch of her fingers working to undo each hook, slowly and carefully. when it finally comes undone, the cool air meets your skin, and your nipples pebble slightly in the change of temperature. a small breath escapes you, the sensation both electric and tender.

your kisses on billie’s neck slow to a languid pace as her fingers toy with the bars piercing your nipples. a soft gasp escapes your lips, your breath hitching as you angle your face into the curve of her neck. your nose grazes the damp trail left by your earlier kisses, and the air feels thick, charged with her presence.

“that feel good, huh?” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, tinged with a laugh as she feels your body respond to her touch. “been wanting to play with these since yesterday.”

her words send a flush coursing through you, the confession settling warm in your chest. gently, she shifts you, her hands firm yet careful as she turns you over and lays you on your back. the comforter beneath you gives way, soft and cool against your heated skin, and your body trembles just slightly at the sensation.

you look up at her, through the fringe of your lashes, her face framed by the golden glow of the bedside lamp. her blue eyes are soft yet intense, locking onto yours as a warm smile spreads across her face. her hair falls like a curtain around you, strands brushing your cheeks, shielding you from anything that exists outside this moment.

“is this okay?” she asks, her voice gentle, careful, as though one wrong move could shatter the sacredness of the moment.

you nod lightly, your throat tight with anticipation.

“remember, i need you to say it for me, mama,” she presses, her tone dipping lower, melting into the air between you.

“yes,” you whisper, your voice steady but barely audible. “it’s more than okay, billie.” your arm lifts, delicate yet sure, wrapping around her neck to pull her closer. your lips meet hers, the kiss slow and deliberate, an exchange that speaks louder than anything you could say.

she hums against your lips, a sound that vibrates through you, before trailing her mouth back to your neck. she kisses you there, leaving traces of herself as she moves lower, her lips ghosting down to your chest. when she reaches the curve of your breasts, she pauses. her breath fans over your skin, sending a shiver through you. the peaks of your nipples stiffen under the coolness of her breath, a soft gasp slipping past your lips.

darting her tongue out, she licks at your right nipple, her tongue circling the bar before pulling it between her lips. her left hand moves to your other breast, her fingers pinching and rolling the sensitive bud. the push and pull of her attention leaves you breathless, and when she releases your nipple with a soft, wet pop, her saliva glistens against your skin in the dim light.

her mouth finds its way to your other breast, mirroring the same motions—sucking, licking, teasing, until your body arches toward her involuntarily. the noises escaping you feel foreign, unbidden, like they’re pulled from some deep, hidden part of you.

her lips trail further downward, leaving a line of kisses over your navel, her hands pressing into your sides to hold you steady. as her lips pause between the valley of your breasts, her gaze lifts to yours, a soft flicker of recognition crossing her face when she notices the small tattoo etched there. she presses a kiss to it, reverent and unhurried, before pulling back slightly to take you in.

she sits up, her eyes never leaving your face as she watches the way your body writhes beneath her, your chest heaving, your lips parted in a series of soft moans that sound like a melody only she gets to hear. her hands move deliberately, halting at the waistband of your sweatpants. her fingers brush against the material, teasing, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger.

her lips curve into a smile as she leans down, her voice low and teasing, warm against your ear. “can i keep going?”

her question lingers, patient, unhurried. her fingers hover at the edge of your waistband, waiting for your answer. and in her eyes, you see nothing but care, nothing but quiet, consuming need.

sitting back up, she watches you beneath her, your body writhing against the comforter, each movement punctuated by soft, needy moans that flood her ears like a song she never wants to end. her lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as her fingers toy with the band of your sweatpants, rubbing the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, dragging the moment out.

“can i?” her voice is soft, low, like a secret meant only for you.

your chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, your voice trembling as you whisper, “yes, please, baby.”

the grin that spreads across billie’s face is equal parts wicked and tender, her eyes never leaving yours as she hooks her fingers into the waistband. she drags them down, her movements slow, deliberate, as if unwrapping a gift she’s been waiting too long to open. inch by inch, she bares you to her until your sweatpants are discarded, tossed carelessly to the side. all that’s left is the thin barrier of your underwear, and the wet patch at the center betrays the need pulsing through you.

“shit—someone’s getting worked up,” she teases, her voice thick with amusement as her fingers brush against the damp fabric, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“shut up,” you mumble, heat rushing to your face as you squirm beneath her. your legs instinctively press together, your core aching for more as she continues her tormenting touches. “just take it off already,” you whine, your voice dripping with impatience.

a cruel smirk tugs at her lips as her fingers curl around the waistband of your panties. “what? i can’t take my time with you?” her words are taunting, dripping with feigned innocence as she slides the fabric down even slower than before.

“no, just—fuck,” you hiss as the cool air hits your bare skin, your body arching slightly at the sudden contrast. unable to take it anymore, you grab her by the neck, pulling her down into a kiss that’s harder, more desperate than any of the ones before. her lips crash against yours, and for a moment, all you can feel is her—her weight, her warmth, the way her body presses into yours.

her hands plant firmly on either side of you, her fists digging into the mattress to steady herself. as the kiss deepens, your hips rut upward, the heat of your bare skin grinding against the rough denim of her jeans. the friction sends a jolt of pleasure through you, a muffled whine escaping into the kiss as you seek more.

billie pulls back, her breathing uneven as her hand slides to your side, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ass. her other hand presses gently against your hips, pinning you back to the bed with a firm but gentle touch.

“have patience,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your cheek as she peppers it with soft, lingering kisses.

“i can’t,” you groan, your voice cracking under the weight of your need.

“you can,” she counters, her tone firm but laced with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, “and you will.”

her eyes meet yours, a silent promise shining in the blue depths. billie wants nothing more than to give in, to lose herself in you completely, but she holds back. she wants this to last, wants to savor every second, every sound, every tremble of your body beneath hers. you deserve that much—more than that.

she dips her head, her lips finding the crook of your neck as she resumes her journey downward. every kiss is purposeful, unhurried, as she maps your body with her mouth. her lips trace the delicate line of your collarbones, pausing to place a lingering kiss at the hollow of your throat before moving lower. she trails kisses down the swell of your breasts, her hands sliding over your sides as she presses soft, reverent kisses to each nipple.

she continues downward, her lips brushing over your ribs, your belly, the dip of your navel. her hands smooth over the curve of your hips, grounding you as she moves lower still. when she finally reaches the soft mound of your cunt, she pauses.

her chin grazes you lightly as she hovers there, her breath warm against your skin. the anticipation hangs heavy in the air, your body taut beneath her, every nerve alive and waiting. her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her lips curving into a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“so fucking beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible, like a prayer spoken only for you.

“well hello there,” she murmurs, her voice low and dripping with mischief, her blue eyes flicking down to where your core glistens, wet and aching for her touch. the sight alone seems to mesmerize her, her lips twitching into a crooked grin as she drinks you in. leaning forward, she presses slow, deliberate kisses to the inside of your thighs, her lips soft but her teeth sharp as they leave faint marks in their wake. her thumbs brush tender circles on the sensitive skin, grounding you and setting every nerve alight all at once.

“you’re so mean, making me wait like this,” you mutter, your voice shaky with anticipation as you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch her. the sight of her there—her head between your thighs, her hair messy, her lips swollen—sends a shiver down your spine.

“no, i’m not,” she counters with a sly smirk, sitting back just enough to pull her shirt over her head. her bra follows, tossed aside carelessly, leaving her bare before you. her tattoos catch the soft glow of the light, a stark contrast against her pale skin. “i’m just taking my time with you, that’s all.”

you let out a frustrated whine, your eyes raking over her now-exposed chest. “exactly, and that’s so—fuck,” your words cut off in a sharp gasp as her lips finally make contact with your pussy. her tongue brushes over your clit in a fleeting touch, just enough to send a jolt through your body.

she doesn’t stop there. her mouth moves with intent, her lips pressing kisses all over, her tongue darting out to taste you. it’s not rushed; it’s sensual, almost like she’s savoring you. she moans against you as her tongue flicks over your entrance, dipping in briefly before sliding up through your folds. the vibration of her voice sends waves of pleasure through you, and you can’t help but arch your back, chasing the sensation.

“billie,” you whimper, your voice breathy and desperate, as her nose grazes your clit with every movement. she doesn’t respond with words, just another moan as she pulls you closer, her hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place.

your fingers tangle in her hair, tugging at the roots as you rock your hips against her face. “oh my god,” you gasp, your thighs trembling as her tongue flicks in a way that leaves you breathless. her nails dig into your skin just slightly, a grounding sensation amidst the overwhelming pleasure.

she pulls back, her lips shiny and swollen, her chest heaving as she looks up at you. “you taste so good,” she mutters, her voice husky and dripping with want. without breaking eye contact, she lets her tatted hand slide down, her fingers taking over where her tongue left off.

her fingers tease your slit, slick and warm, before sliding one inside you with ease. the stretch is slow, deliberate, as her thumb brushes over your clit in lazy circles. “feel good, baby?” she asks, her voice soft but commanding, her eyes watching every little twitch of your body as she works you open.

“yes,” you gasp, your head falling back against the pillows. your walls clench around her finger as she curls it inside you, brushing against that perfect spot that makes your breath hitch. she smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction, and leans back in to press a kiss to your thigh, murmuring, “good girl.”

“this okay?” she whispers, her voice gentle, almost reverent, as her movements still for a moment. her other hand glides over the curve of your stomach, her thumb tracing soft circles on your skin. her blue eyes, vast as oceans, hold yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

you nod, breath hitching as you adjust to the fullness of her. “yes,” you murmur, your voice trembling, and it’s all the confirmation she needs. she slides another finger inside you, slow and deliberate, the stretch sending sparks of pleasure rippling through you. her pace is unhurried, her focus solely on the way your body reacts to her, the way you fit around her fingers like she was made for this—for you.

“oh, fuck, billie,” you gasp, your head falling back as you watch her fingers disappear inside you, coated in your slick. she groans softly at the sound of her name falling from your lips, her pupils dilating with a mix of desire and awe. she’s certain she could fall apart right here, just from the melody of your voice and the way you tremble beneath her.

your moans grow louder, mingling with the obscene, wet sounds of her fingers working you, the rhythm steady but maddening. her sheets are damp beneath you, the evidence of your ecstasy pooling there as her pace quickens. “so pretty, baby,” she breathes, her voice thick with affection and hunger. “everything about you… so fucking beautiful.” her free hand slides down, gripping your thigh to hold you in place as you buck against her touch, desperate for more.

your hands find their way to her hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pull her closer. the kiss you give her is fierce, messy, and desperate, your lips crashing into hers like waves against the shore. her teeth graze your bottom lip, and the sensation pulls a whimper from you, the sound only spurring her on. her fingers drive into you faster, her palm brushing against your clit with each stroke, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

you break the kiss, your lips still brushing hers, your breath mingling as you struggle to form words. “billie… i—mmm…” your voice is a broken whine, your brows knitting together as you feel the knot in your core tightening, threatening to snap.

her gaze locks onto yours, and you try to shield your face, embarrassed by how undone you’ve become under her touch. your hand flies to her face, an attempt to cover her eyes, but she’s quicker. she grabs your wrist, gently pulling it away and lacing her fingers with yours. she presses a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your hand, her voice like a balm as she whispers, “don’t hide from me, mama. i want to see all of you.”

her words unravel something deep inside you, and the knot in your belly finally snaps. your climax crashes over you in waves, your body shaking as she guides you through it, her fingers never faltering. “that’s it,” she coos, her lips brushing against your temple as your hips jerk against her hand. “so good for me, baby. just like that.”

your head falls against her chest, your body pliant and trembling as you come down, your breath ragged and uneven. she slows her movements before withdrawing her fingers, careful not to overstimulate you. you shudder at the loss, but the sight of her lifting her hand to her lips makes your breath hitch all over again.

billie closes her eyes as her tongue flicks out, wrapping around her fingers and savoring the taste of you. a low moan escapes her throat as she licks them clean, her expression one of pure satisfaction. “you’re perfect,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with affection, and the words settle deep in your chest, grounding you in this moment with her.

your back hits the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin as you stare blankly at the ceiling, the swirl of your thoughts almost deafening. the quiet hum of the night fills the space, but all you can focus on is the weight of the moment, heavy and impossible to ignore. billie’s eyes flick over to you, her thumbs brushing lazy circles into your sides as her brows knit together, concern softening her features.

“you okay?” her voice is gentle, like the question might break you.

truthfully, you don’t know. you had crossed a line you swore you’d never even approach—crossed it, leapt over it, and now here you were, tangled in the aftermath. you had met, and fucked, one of your clients. and god, the worst part wasn’t even that. the worst part was the undeniable truth humming beneath your skin—you wanted to do it again. and again. and again.

“mhm,” you hum, but it’s weak, barely audible. your voice doesn’t carry the conviction you need it to, and the room falls silent again, thick with tension. your mind races, spiraling through a maze of scenarios, consequences, and excuses until her voice cuts through the noise.

“it’s getting late.” her words are quiet but pointed, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. your eyes dart around the dim room, finally landing on the clock glowing faintly on the bedside table. 2:57 a.m.

“shit—i’m sorry,” you stammer, bolting upright, scrambling for your clothes like an instinctive reaction. but before you can even find your shirt, her hand presses softly against your back, grounding you.

“no, i—i was going to ask if you’d like to stay. for the night.” her voice wavers slightly, and she looks away for a moment, her vulnerability showing in the flicker of hesitation in her gaze. when her eyes meet yours again, there’s something there—hope, maybe? or just a simple longing.

you hesitate, your heart thundering in your chest. everything about this feels complicated, feels wrong, and yet, there’s a pull in her voice, in her gaze, that makes you want to say yes despite all the reasons you shouldn’t. you search for excuses—she’d have to drive you back to your car; it’s late; it doesn’t mean anything—but none of them feel convincing enough to leave.

“okay,” you whisper, the word hanging in the air like a secret. her lips curve into a soft smile, and she moves quickly to grab you extra clothes and swap out the bedding. “thanks,” you murmur, and something in her expression softens even more.

the pillow feels too soft under your head, your back turned to her as you try to steady the rhythm of your breathing. you hear her moving around the room—shutting off the television, switching off the lights. the quiet returns as she slips into bed beside you, and for a moment, you feel the faintest brush of her arm, hesitant, like she wants to reach for you but stops herself just short. the space between you feels heavy, unspoken words hanging in the air.

“goodnight, billie,” you whisper into the quiet, your voice barely carrying. your eyes close, but your thoughts don’t stop—they churn and twist, loud and relentless.

“goodnight, star.” her voice is soft, like the nickname itself is fragile and intimate, and it’s the last thing you hear before sleep pulls you under.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns @47lake @vijaxx @natbelovasblog @hopingforgoodblogs ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

[losergames]

Chop Shop is strictly 18+ for language, themes, and potential explicit content. 

🔗 - Game Intro | Bug Report | Ko-Fi

Episode Four is now available! (+ 59,000) - PLAY HERE

Debrief after your meeting with Inez.

Steal... or don't!

Yvonne has a secret.

2 more achievements.

And more!

This update comes with a patch (Version 1.2.3) For this update you will need to start a NEW SAVE. An updated inventory macro has been implemented and is not compatible with old saves. I really wish you didn't have to but it's what's best for the game and its longevity!

Patch notes + author notes are under the cut. If preferred, you can access them in game in the start menu.

STORY

PROLOGUE:

General edits and fixes.

More vague, as to not elicit any emotional connection to the crew for continuity.

EPISODE 01:

Added a new set of personality building choices when meeting KJ, Jonno, Natasha and Aiden at the bar.

EPISODE 02:

Tweaked the conversation with Dilani in the closing scene to reflect more on the situation. Added some more fearful dialogue and flavour text.

Other general edits and fixes.

EPISODE 03:

Fixed gaps and spacing issues.

Minor phrasing and sentence structure changes.

Grammar and typo fixes.

UI + TECHNICAL

SETTINGS:

Changing the font size now only applies to the game text in the passages.

Added descriptions to the toggleable settings.

UI:

The background now changes colour dependent on what theme you are using, instead of the default black.

INVENTORY:

The inventory macro has been updated! Previously V2, now V3 of the ChapelR Simple Inventory Macro.

CREATE A SAVE

Modified the randomise PC choice, setting pronouns in 'sets' instead of randomising each pronoun separately.

GAMEPLAY MODE

Players can now choose a gameplay mode when starting a new save: Regular or Challenge.

Challenge mode disables the back button, disallowing players to return to the previous passage. Players cannot redo dice rolls or try out different choices for desired outcomes.

Challenge mode is not available in Create A Save. All CAS made saves default to regular mode.

AN: hello hello! it has been a while -- episode 04 is finally here!

this ep was a long one to get through but we finally made it out of the fog. i found that i wrote a bunch of stuff that just... didn't fit? but is hopefully going to be used later down the line, so it's cool i've got shells of scenes for later.

i can't find any game breaking bugs myself and my amazing beta testers have scanned through as many possible variants as they can! of course, if there is anything funky, broken, or maybe not triggering correctly, please submit a bug report!

again i will say that you will need to start a NEW SAVE for this update. unfortunately the updated inventory macro is not compatible with previous saves. i really didn't want this to be a thing when updating chop shop but it is unfortunately just the way for this update - apologies!! i know it's super annoying when games do this but chop shop is still a wip so there will always be some teething problems along the way.

as i look through my notes, we have now completed act 1 of my outline (AAAAHH) so soooo exciting. finally pc can stop wringing their hands about being bad and actually //start// being bad.

if you've made it this far -- hello and thank you! i'm so happy we're at the point where PC is making some real decisions, taking another step into their life of crime.

happy update day and happy reading!! thank you so much for the continued support and patience!!! i hope you enjoy the new episode! - becky :-) <3